





I 









The Debt 


By 

William Westrup 

Author of 

“The Land of To-morrow” and “A Sentimental Cynic” 


NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



f 


PRINTED BY 

Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, 

BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, LONDON, S.H., 
AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. 




7 




TO 

LEWIS ROSE MACLEOD 

IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF MUCH 


HELPFUL ENCOURAGEMENT 


I 


CONTENTS 


■chap. page 

I AT THE OUTSPAN I 

II THE CHARM OF CONTRAST . . . .II 

III YOUNG RYAN’S decision 23 

IV THE BUSTLE OF TOWN 37 

V THE NEW WORLD ...... 49 

VI THE HOUSE OF HARRIS 6 1 

VII A BEGINNING . . . . . . *71 

VIII THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN 84 

IX A DINNER PARTY 92 

X A CONSPIRACY ....... 103 

XI “TIMEO DANAOS ” 1 13 

XII A DANCE 123 

XIII FRANCES TO THE RESCUE . . . *132 

XIV AT THE STORE . . . . . - MS 

XV JENKINS — HERO 1 53 

XVI THE TALE THAT WAS TOLD . . . • 163 

XVII CONCERNING MATRIMONY . . . .176 

XVIII A NEW FRIEND 188 

XIX AN INTERLUDE 202 

XX PLOT — . . . . . . .212 

vil 


Contents 


• • • 

Vlll 


CHAF. 

XXI 

— AND COUNTERPLOT 

• 

• 

• 


PAGE 

225 

XXII 

THE CUNNING OF ETHEL 

• 



238 

XXIII 

TRAGEDY .... 

• 



248 

XXIV 

A NARROW ESCAPE . 

• 

• • 

• 

261 

XXV 

DISMISSED 


• • 

• 

273 

XXVI 

A FORCED RETREAT 


• • 

• 

00 

'XXVII 

POETIC JUSTICE 


• « 


300 

XXVIII 

THE AFTERMATH 




315 

XXIX 

ALONG THE REEF . 


i 

• • 

• 

323 

XXX 

WORK .... 


• • 

t 

334 

XXXI 

THE SACRIFICE 


• 

• 

349 


THE DEBT 


CHAPTER I 

AT THE OUTSPAN 

The old man swung the heavy wagon-whip dexterously 
and lightly touched the off-side leading ox on the flank. 

“Git up, will ye,” he cried. “Ye lazy, good-f ’r-nothing, 
slab-sided, lop-eared, cow-hocked, wall-eyed old shirker ! 
Don’ tell me! Y’ know y’re shirking! An’ you ’s fat 
as a pig, an’ full of summer grass. But ye don’t come 
any o’ those tricks wid me. I’m tellin’ ye. Now then — 
will ye pull, or will ye have it? ” 

He swung his huge whip again, and his voice took on 
a note of command. 

“Scotsman! — Robinson! — aman! Ye lazy divils ! ” he 
shouted, addressing the two leading oxen by name, 
and the raw hide lash curled sharply round their sides. 
The off-side ox — he of the many adjectives — brought all 
his weight to bear on the yoke, as though at last con- 
vinced of the seriousness of the occasion, and the whole 
team backed him up steadily. For a few moments the 
near hind wheel, bogged to the axle in a bad piece of 
road, declined to move, but the steady, straining pull was 
bound to tell. The old transport rider still shouted 
threats and imprecations, and made the whip give out 
astonishing reports, but he did not actually touch any of 
his beasts. Slowly and reluctantly the wagon moved 
forward, at first almost imperceptibly, and then with a 
rush as the wheel drew clear of its muddy bondage and 
gripped on the hard surface again. 

The old man shouldered his whip with a chuckle, and 
walked by the oxen as they moved on to overtake a second 
wagon drawn up about a hundred yards ahead. He shook 


2 The Debt 

an admonitory finger at the big red ox and chuckled 
again. 

“One o’ these days ye’ll go just a bit too far, Robin- 
son,” he remarked confidentially. “I’m not sayin’ ye’re 
not a good ox, ye understand, but ye’re over full of 
notions as to who’s boss. I’ll let Harry take a spell wid 
ye, an’ ye’ll find ye can’t bluff the boy like ye can th’ old 
man. I’m too soft wid ye, I am — that’s what’s the matter 
wid me.” 

He was a fine-looking man of something like sixty 
years, with hair and beard quite white, and his face 
tanned to a deep red by the weather of many seasons. 
His eyes were small and almost startlingly blue, and they 
regarded the world with humorous gaze from amid a 
network of wrinkles. Over six feet high he was, and 
carried himself with the easy swing of one who has walked 
much, even if his shoulders were a trifle bowed ; and the 
strength of his sinewy arms was evinced by the careless 
manner in which he handled the heavy transport rider’s 
whip. He was clad simply in a faded blue shirt, open at 
the neck, a much worn pair of corduroy trousers, and a 
pair of heavy ammunition boots ; whilst on his head he 
wore a battered felt hat. As he walked he sucked con- 
tinuously at an old briar pipe, which did not interfere 
appreciably with any of the vocations which a mouth 
might be called upon to perform in the usual course otf 
events, but seemed to be part and parcel of the man. 

In many ways he was a typical transport rider of the 
old school, but in some respects he was essentially dif- 
ferent. In the first place, he never swore at his team. 
He had given it up many years before in a sudden burst 
of religious zeal — or apprehension ! — and, in place of the 
very customary vocabulary, had developed an entirely 
original one, which was at least as efficacious. Some of 
the words he used were suspiciously akin to those of his 
unregenerate days, but he failed to see anything incon- 
gruous in this. Of Irish descent, he possessed all the 
humour of his race, and extracted amusement out of his 
worst misfortunes. For the rest, he was a cheery, open- 
hearted, loquacious old man, a singular mixture of sim- 
plicity and shrewdness, and he had been driving oxen 
almost as long as he could remember. 


At the Outspan 3 

His son Harry was rather different. Though regarded 
as a boy by his father, he was thirty-five years old, and 
had received something of an education at various schools 
in the Cape Colony. He also was tall, but his expression 
lacked some of the humorous strength which was so 
noticeable with the older man, and his stoop was more 
pronounced. His face was one which showed that the 
owner had possibilities — possibilities especially for good, — 
but he was a man to follow, and not to lead. Rather 
wistful brown eyes, a nondescript nose, somewhat lank 
brown hair, and a beard and m.oustache which hid a mouth 
the strength of which was partially discounted by the 
somewhat rounded chin beneath. It was a kindly enough 
face, but the eyes asked a perpetual question ; and the man 
who asks too many questions of life is like to realise only 
when it is too late that he were better without the 
answers. 

“Did you get into the hole there, father? ” he asked as 
the old man approached. “ I remembered it was soft 
there from our last trip, and went wide.” 

“Oh, I found the hemmed thing all right,” the other 
answered. “Taren’t a bit o’ good tryin’ to dodge it wid 
me. Keep right ahead till ye falls in, ses I, an’ then set 
about gettin’ out. But old Robinson there is the laziest, 
artfullest, intelligentest old slouch as ever was. Won’t 
pull worth a dash till th’ others is about done in, an’ then 
— b-r-r-r-r-up ! — puts them lusty shoulders of hisn into it, 
an’ yanks the whole consarn out easier ’n winkin’. One 
o’ these days I shall just about flay th’ old skulk. But 
he’s a powerful good ox in a really bad place.” 

“You’re too soft with him, father. Let him have a bit 
more whip instead of tickling him with the voorslag, and 
he’ll pull. ’Tisn’t often you touch any of them, and they 
know it. I’d like to take a spell with your team just to 
see how they would go for me.” 

“That’s you, Harry boy. Always wantin’ to find out 
things. Just keep on a-reading books, like I do when I 
gets half a chance, and you finds out more’n enough to 
keep goin’, wid no trouble worth tellin’ about. An’ if ye 
don’t want to believe it, ye needn’t. I’m a-readin’ a book 
about th’ old days when men went about wid armour all 
over ’em, an’ it fair makes ye laugh. I’m tellin’ ye. 


4 The Debt 

Mither of dolls, but they must have looked powerful 
comic.” 

The younger man smiled slightly. 

“Yes, but there was always something to do in those 
days, and a man didn’t just exist. There’s old Robinson 
shirking again! Just you watch me stir him up.” 

He lifted his whip, and his father stopped him just in 
time. 

“Don’t ye hit him, Harry boy, don’t ye hit him ! ” he 
exclaimed, much perturbed. “Th’ old wagon’s goin’ 
along easy, an’ he knows it. If ye hit him now, what’ll 
he be doin’ when we get in a bad place? ” 

“You’re too soft with him. Why should he slack when 
the others are all pulling? ” 

“Maybe I’m a bit easy wid him, but he’s a good beast. 
He’ve got more sense than th’ others, an’ can ye blame 
him for it? There’s lots of men who pull steady enough 
on th’ level, but there ain’t many who go at it all th’ better 
when th’ load’s stuck. Old Robinson is better ’n a play 
to me ordinary like, but when we’re really up agin’ it, 
he’s th’ boy to pull just ’s if he enjoyed it. I don’t mind 
a man goin’ easy when things is smooth, so long’s he 
gets down to it when trouble comes along. ’Taren’t 
always the man what slogs in when the boss is lookin’ as 
gets through th’ most work.” 

“I dare say you’re right,” Harry answered thought- 
fully. “You’ve got a rare way of putting things, father; 
and, come to think of it, you’re never far behind when 
I’m driving the front wagon. We ought to strike the 
Kalebe in half ’n hour or so. What d’ you think of it? ” 

The Kalebe was an insignificant river which eventually 
found its way to the Vaal. Though shallow enough at 
most times, and with a good bottom where the road crossed 
it, it was occasionally dangerous when the summer rains 
had been heavy in the hills. 

The old man shook his head thoughtfully. 

“Like ’s not we’ll be hung up there,” he said. “Ye 
noticed it away to th’ east’ard yesterday an’ the day 
before? Rainin’ more’n a little it was, an’ the Kalebe is 
always worst at the beginnin’ of the wet season. Powerful 
nice place to stop for a spell. Wilier trees an’ good grass 
— reg’lar picnic. Now if ’t had been the Sinku, I’m not 


At the Outspan 5 

sayin’ as I should ha’ liked it. Grass poor, an’ not a 
shrub to sit under an’ rest. But th’ old Kalebe’s quite 
all rig-ht.” 

He broke off as the wagon topped a small rise, and 
took a couple of turns with the brake. 

“There y’are, Harry boy!” he exclaimed. “Tellin’ 
me how to drive a wagon, an’ learnin’ me how to treat 
my beasts, an’ ye let your own wagon go down without 
a turn of the brake. Oh, I’m not sayin’ as it’ll hurt 
them, bein’ only a bit of a dip an’ all, but ye never know. 
Now, just a few turns, an’ mebbe them as is carryin’ the 
disselboom won’t get the start of a gall. Mebbe yours 
have got it now. But th’ old Kalebe’s up all right. D’ye 
see her? ” 

Little more than a mile ahead the road ran into the 
river. It looked a placid enough stream from that dis- 
tance, but the old man’s practised glance noted the 
unusual width, and the water swirling round a clump of 
willow trees away to the right. 

“She’s up,” he resumed, “but she’ll be down again 
to-morrow, like ’s not. Not like that hemmed old witch 
the Sinku, where more’n likely ye may stay best part of 
a month, wid nary a bit of really good grazin’ f’ ^the 
beasts, an’ nothin’ to do ’cept twiddle your thumbs. Now 
to-morrow I reckon as I’ll set by that bit of a krantz and 
larn some more of them chaps what went about in armour. 
Three months I’ve been at that book, Harry boy, an’ it’s 
powerful good readin’.” 

The younger man shouted a few directions to the voor- 
looper with his wagon, and then turned to his father. He 
did not seem pleased at the prospect of a delay. 

“We ought to be in Vansrust first thing in the morn- 
ing,” he remarked. “You know we heard that there’s a 
lot of wool to go down, and maybe we could load up right 
away, and be off again in the evening. You never know 
where you are in this blessed country. In winter there’s 
not enough grass to keep the oxen alive, and in summer 
the rivers come down, and you are hung up for days.” 

The old man chuckled jovially. 

“ ’Taren’t no manner o’ good talkin’ about it,” he 
said, “for the hemmed old river don’t care more’n a 
couple of shouts for us. An’, mind you. I’m not sayin’ 


6 


The Debt 


as I minds a bit of a rest when ye’ve got to take it, like. 
Mebbe we’ll get across to-morrow, an’ then I’ll be all for 
loadin’ up quicker ’n anything. But if so be as we’re 
planted here for a spell, then I’m for tacklin’ them chaps 
in armour again, an’ good luck to it.” 

They trekked slowly on towards the river, with the 
glory of the setting sun turning the veld to pink and 
crimson, and touching even the patched and weather- 
worn bucksails on the wagons with a subtle suggestion 
of romance, as though the loads they sheltered might be 
treasures of the mysterious East, instead of as they were, 
in sober fact, cases of tinned milk and similar modern 
luxuries, with a few bales of blankets, a miscellapeous 
assortment of three-legged iron pots, and a large consign- 
ment of paraffin. The country appeared level — hope- 
lessly, monotonously level — for the most part, though this 
was rather the effect of immense distance ; and the horizon 
ever altered as one descended into the constantly recurring 
dips, or climbed laboriously to the deceptive brow of the 
next fold in the seemingly endless expanse of gently 
undulating veld. Further to the west, where the great 
Kalahari desert stretched out greedy hands towards the 
more fertile lands, the country was in very truth flat to 
an almost overpowering degree ; but here the influence 
of the hills was felt — those hills which rose faint and blue 
away to the east, and formed the watershed for South 
Africa. 

Except by the side of the river ahead of them, there 
were no trees to break the suggestion of endless distance, 
and the stunted vaal bush flourished unobtrusively as far 
as the eye could see. Barbed wire fences, crudely put up, 
and in desperate need of repair, occasionally bordered the 
road on either side, and at rare intervals a farmhouse of 
sorts — probably constructed of mud bricks — rose gaunt 
and unsightly from the outraged surface of the veld, and 
by its very forlornness served to accentuate the general 
impression of desolation. 

But the transport riders were too accustomed to the 
appearance of the Free State to be in the least impressed, 
and they passed on their unseeing way till they stood by 
the banks of the Kalebe, and noted that it was impossible 
to cross at the drift. 


At the Outspan 7 

“Thought so,” the old man observed cheerfully. 
“ Klaas, ye thick-headed, cross-eyed, pot-bellied thief of 
a Tottie,^ get to work quick an’ lively > an’ outspan.” 

The Hottentot and the two natives with the wagons 
busied themselves lifting the heavy yokes from the necks 
of the oxen, whilst the old man stood by the after wagon 
and saw to it that the work was properly done, at least 
as regarded his own team. As the big, red leader lurched 
away to seek the most promising patch of grass, he 
caught it by one of its huge, spreading horns, and 
addressed it severely. 

“An’ what if I don’t let ye go? ” he demanded. 
“ ’Taren’t a bit o’ use struggling, ye lumping, overfed, 
contrairy old cuss, ye ! Had ye since ye were an ongainly 
shlip of a calf, an’ ye think ye can sling yer back-chat at 
me ! Don’ try to argy wid me now ! What hev ye got 
to say for yourself? ” 

The big red ox took not the slightest notice of the old 
man, but continued to munch reflectively at the remnants 
of the grass picked up at the last outspan, with its head 
inclined at a slight angle as a sort of graceful acknow- 
ledgment of the fact that the old man held one horn. 
Obviously it was too accustomed to such treatment to 
resent it. 

“I s’pose ye can’t help it,” the old man went on, 
making an attempt to shake the beast by jerking the 
horn — or, to be more exact, himself — violently backwards 
and forwards. “ Some beasts is horn cussed, just th’ 
same’s some folk never outgrows it. But I’m not 
sayin’ ye can’t pull when ye hev a mind that way, 
mind ye.” 

He punched the animal once or twice in a friendly way, 
and then released the captive horn. The ox stood for a 
moment as though to be perfectly satisfied, ere moving 
away, that the old man had nothing further to say, and 
then walked unconcernedly towards the edge of the 
river. 

Of all animals the ox is easily the most unresponsive, 
yet the transport rider was firmly convinced that there 
was a distinct bond of understanding between himself and 
this particular beast. He stood watching it as it slowly 
^ Hottentot. 


8 The Debt 

splashed into the water, and then he turned towards his 
son. 

“I wouldn’t swop old Robinson for any two of your 
team, Harry boy,” he remarked. “An’ yet ye remember 
he was a little bit of a calf when we guv that Dutchman 
two pound for him, an’ ye told me I was clean crazy.” 

“Well, you ought to have had a bigger one for the 
price,” the other replied. “He said you could have your 
pick of that little mob, and you took the smallest.” 

“True, I did. But th’ little beggar just looked at me 
in the knowingest way, an’ I could see from the bone of 
him that he was like to be a big one.” 

The younger man laughed. The idea of a knowing 
expression in the eye of a calf amused him, but he had 
the greatest faith in his father’s judgment. 

“Wonderful how you pick them out,” he went on. 
“The black-and-white one you got for a case of paraffin, 
because it was too poor to pull. And now look at it ! ” 

The old man was much pleased. 

“Oh, you’re jest as good — jest as good, Harry boy,” 
he replied. “Th’ black-an ’-white was a young beast, an’ 
only wanted restin’ and feedin’ for a spell. But what 
do you think o’ giving us to eat to-night?” 

“There’s a bit of that bacon left, and we’ll boll it with 
some potatoes, so ’s they taste nice and salt-like; and 
then, maybe, a tin of those red-label sardines.” 

“We’re living high this trip, Harry boy, aren’t we? 
Bacon an’ sardines ! May ’s well go th’ whole hog, an’ 
open a tin o’ jam. We’ve bin doin’ pretty fine this 
season, an’ in me old age I sort o’ take kindly to luxuries.” 

The son moved dutifully away to see to the preparations 
for the evening meal, and the old man pottered amiably 
around looking to the gear, and generally casting a kindly 
yet shrewd eye over the whole outfit. The sun was 
already dipping below the horizon when he happened to 
glance across the river in the direction of Vansrust, and 
he called out to his son in some surprise. 

“D’ye see that cape-cart cornin’ along?” he said. 
“Now where in th’ name of dolls will he be goin’ at this 
time o’ night an’ all? Cornin’ straight for th’ drift, too, 
an’ seems to be in a hurry.” 

Together the two men watched the swiftly approaching 


At the Outspan 9 

cart, which was being driven towards the river. As it 
neared them they could see that a native was driving, 
whilst a white man sat in the seat behind, and only altered 
his position as the horses came to a halt at the edge of 
the drift. 

“ In a mighty hurry to git somewhere so ’s he’ll have 
more time t’ wait,” the old man remarked cheerfully. 
“Nice an’ neighbourly to have him there an’ us here. 
But we’ve got the side wid the trees, an’ th’ grass over 
yon’s not to be compared wid this. ’Taren’t no sort of 
business o’ mine, but I reckon if I was that side o’ th’ 
river. I’d be away to Vansrust — eh, Harry boy?” 

“Can’t quite make out what he’s up to,” the younger 
man said. “He must have left Vansrust less than an 
hour ago, and why does he want to come and camp there, 
so near to the dorp? Must be one of those town fellows 
— he’s wearing a helmet, you see.” 

On the other side of the river an altercation was taking 
place. The white man was arguing with the native 
driver, and the latter was evidently explaining that the 
drift was impassable. Finally the white man caught hold 
of the reins, and headed the horses at the water. The old 
transport rider was suddenly anxious. 

“Don’ tell me as he’s tryin’ to cross! ” he exclaimed. 
“Why, there must be all of six foot an’ more of water in 
the centre, an’ runnin’ like a mill race.” 

He put his hands to his mouth and sent a shout of 
warning echoing across the river. The man in the cart 
heard it, and evidently realised its import. He waved a 
hand in acknowledgment, and they could see he was laugh- 
ing. The next moment he had urged the frightened 
horses into the water, and was coming across. The 
native driver jumped out, and stood shouting and 
gesticulating on the bank. 

The old man turned to his son, and there was a glint 
of anger in his eyes. 

“Of all th’ pig-headed, ignorant, cussed divils, he beats 
th’ lot ! She’ll go sure ’s fate when they gets the full 
stream, an’ them poor horses tied up an’ all ! What’s he 
mean by drowning them like that? Didn’t they show him 
clear as clear as th’ river was up? An’ they know th’ 
old Kalebe, an’ he don’t.” 


lO 


The Debt 


He trotted up and down anxiously as the cape-cart 
slowly proceeded towards mid-stream, and watched the 
frightened horses as they struggled to keep their footing. 

“Harry boy, git your boots off — git your boots off,” he 
shouted. “Lucky ’tis that ye can swim, wid me as help- 
less as ’n old hen in a pond. Take a knife, an’ see if ye 
can cut th’ traces.” 

Harry was already sitting down unlacing his boots. 
He showed no signs of perturbation, and in the crisis was 
the stronger man of the two. 

“All right, father,” he replied calmly. “Soon as she 
feels the current I’ll be in.” 

He threw off his coat, and walked quickly down stream. 


CHAPTER II 


THE CHARM OF CONTRAST 

Despite the flattering remarks of the old transport 
rider, the Kalebe was a treacherous river. It appeared 
the simplest thing in the world to cross the drift when 
the water was low, but in mid-stream were shifting quick- 
sands, and one could never be sure when rhe frightened 
plunging of one’s horse would tell the tale of danger. 
Not very great danger, be it said, when the river was 
comparatively empty, for the sands were shallow; but it 
was a different matter when the water was deep. And 
then it was a very difficult river to gauge accurately. The 
banks were flat and reed-grown, and a rise of a couple of 
feet made very little appreciable difference to the casual 
observer. He might notice that the water seemed further 
up the road than it had been, but there was absolutely 
nothing to indicate the treacherous depths of mid-stream, 
where the bubbles floated with a suggestion of hurried 
stealth over those shifting sands. 

In point of fact it was most dangerous when it was 
just full, as it was now. When the summer rains sent 
it down in a swirling flood of muddy water, dotted with 
branches and bushes torn from its banks, and with an 
occasional carcase of a sheep to speak for its work, the 
veriest bungler would not have attempted to cross it. 
But there was no suggestion of fury now — only the 
unusual width, and those bubbles — those muddy, foam- 
flecked bubbles — speeding silently on towards the mighty 
Vaal. 

Despite the nervousness of his horses, the stranger made 
good progress till he was almost half-way across. The 
water rose steadily till it was nearly over the backs of the 
animals, but they faced the far bank till the off-side horse 
felt the quicksand. He reared right up, looking like some 
ungainly sea monster as his dripping chest showed clear 

II 


12 


The Debt 


of the stream for a moment, and then he slewed round, 
and the off-wheel of the cape-cart found the sand. 

It was all over in a minute. The cart tilted to a 
dangerous angle, and then turned over as the flood 
grasped it. The man leaped out as it turned, and threw 
away the reins. Possibly he feared the very real danger 
of becoming entangled with the harness, but, as it was 
evident at once that he was no swimmer, he would have 
done better to hold to his one chance of escape. The 
horses, facing once more to the bank they had just left, 
struggled gamely as the water lifted the cart clear of the 
sand. Half swimming, half walking, they strove desper- 
ately to make the bank, whilst the native who had been 
driving pluckily plunged in and swam to them. A few 
deft slashes with his knife, and the traces were cut. A 
couple more strokes, and the animals were free altogether 
from the dragging weight of the cart, and easily reached 
the shore. The cart itself plunged drunkenly down stream 
for perhaps a hundred yards, and then brought up against 
a projecting lip of land. 

The old man had been so occupied in watching the 
struggles of the horses that the plight of the other white 
man had not worried him at all. But, fortunately for the 
drowning man, Harry had noticed that he couldn’t swim. 
He saw the struggling body being carried swiftly down 
stream, with the triumphant bubbles circling round, and 
he timed his dive to a nicety. Once he had a grip of the 
other it was a comparatively easy matter to effect a 
rescue, for the stranger had all his wits about him, and 
made not the slightest attempt to interfere. By the time 
the old man had thoughts for them they were already 
close in shore, and he ran down stream to help them to 
land. Then his rage against the man who had so nearly 
drowned a couple of horses flamed out. 

“What d’yer mean by it?” he demanded, dancing 
round the dripping figure which was vainly endeavouring 
to get rid of the superfluous moisture absorbed. “What 
d’yer mean by it. I’m askin’ ye? Ye onnateral, ignerant, 
narrer-chested lunatic, ye ! Ought not t’ be allowed out 
widout a nurse. I’m tellin’ ye, an’ a nurse what could up 
an’ smack yer face if ye needed it. Ain’t ye got no more 
sense than to fly in th’ face of Providence, an’ after ye’ve 


The Charm of Contrast 


13 

been warned too? Drown yerself if ye want to — jump in 
an’ do it now f’r all I care. But to drive them poor 
horses in ! ” 

He paused, overcome with horror as he thought of the 
narrow escape of the horses, and the stranger, after a final 
spasm of coughing, sought to defend himself. 

“What does it matter?” he said. “I’d have paid for 
them if they’d been drowned, and it’s all in the day’s 
work. Moreover, what on earth has it got to do with 

you, you warlike old ruffian; you — you ” He laughed 

as he noted for the first time the appearance of the trans- 
port rider, and then concluded cheerfully : “ You funny 
old Father Christmas.” 

The old man was almost incoherent with wrath, and 
seemed about to take drastic measures ; but his son 
interposed. 

“It’s all right, father,” he said grimly. “Now then, 
you,” he went on, seizing the unhappy stranger by the 
coat collar and shaking him violently, “what do you mean 
by getting at my father, hey? He’s quite right, and if 
you don’t beg his pardon now. I’ll sling you back into 
the river, I will.” 

“Here — easy! Give me a chance to speak. That’s 
better. I seem to have landed on a whole colony of 
lunatics. Now don’t get going again, for heaven’s sake. 
Oh, I’ll beg anybody’s pardon if you like. Shall I sing 
out and apologise to my nigger driver? I always give 
in gracefully when I see I’m really up against it. But 
just ask old Fa — your father, that is, why he started in 
to call me several different kinds of lunatic when I was 
only just one remove from a watery grave. Not that I 
mind, of course, but just for the fun of the thing.” 

“Father was quite right ” Harry began, but the old 

man cut him short. Apparently he was filled with remorse 
for his outbreak, and his kindly heart asserted itself. 

“That’ll do, Harry boy,” he said. “The gentleman’s 
got in a good ’un there. What for did I let up at him, 
an’ him full of water an’ all? But it give me such a turn 
when I saw them poor horses druv in, that I was mad as 
mad. I’m powerful sorry, sir, an’ if ye’ll come along to 
th’ wagon. I’ll fix ye up with some dry clothes soon as 
winkin’.” 


The Debt 


14 


“Thanks ! Spoken like a Briton. By the way, you are 
British, I suppose, or is it American?” 

“Oh, British it is — Patrick Ryan, an’ entirely at your 
service. Mind ye, I been on the road so long that ye might 
think I was anything, but ’tis Irish blood right enough.” 

“Thought so. As for me, my name’s Frank Lensford; 
my business ” 

“Shoo! ” The old man cut him short. “Never mind 
about that all now. Come along quick, or we’ll have ye 
catching the death o’ cold, an’ ye wid no more strength 
than a town-bred chap can suck out o’ th’ dust. Ye can 
tell us all ye want when ’tis dry ye are. Harry boy, just 
ye get some cocoa made, an’ put in best part of a handful 
to make it grip.” 

He took Lensford by the arm and hurried him to the 
wagon. There he quickly made him take off all his wet 
things, and gave him instead a sort of glorified replica 
of his own simple costume. Also he insisted on rubbing 
him down, and did it so lustily that Lensford was fain to 
yell for mercy. And not a word would he hear till the 
stranger had gulped down a tin pannikinful of steaming 
cocoa, and had sworn that he really felt no ill effects from 
his adventure. 

“I feel a bit sore,” he concluded, “but that’s only 
where you rubbed me. Also my throat is a trifle raw, 
due to swallowing red-hot cocoa. Otherwise I’m very fit, 
thank you. I hope you have no further anxiety? ” 

“Oh, ye’ll do all right now. Harry boy, what have 
happened to th’ horses? Drivin’ ’em back to Vansrust, 
hey? I s’pose ye couldn’t hear what he said, because th’ 
old Kalebe wants t’ do all th’ talkin’ hereabouts just 
now. But there ain’t much harm done, an’ they’ll be able 
to get the cart to-morrow, if so be the river don’t come 
down again. Will ye smoke, Mr. Lensford? There’s a 
bit of a corn-cob pipe nigh as good as new. Found it 
matter of three weeks ago, I did, an’ only tried it once 
owin’ to its bein’ powerful small for a grown man. Ye’re 
more’n welcome to it.” 

Lensford regarded the dingy relic with some amusement, 
and then produced a briar pipe from his hip pocket. 

“I won’t trouble you — that is, rob you,” he said seri- 
ously. “ I managed to save this from the deluge, and it’s 


The Charm of Contrast 


15 

not the sort of pipe to mind getting wet. If you have a 
little tobacco. . . . Thanks. And now I must thank you 
for saving me from a rather unpleasant finish. Not that 
it mattered much. . . . But it was jolly plucky of you 
to come in after me like that — it really was. You don’t 
want me to say much about it, for you’re not that kind; 
but I think the more. The less you say, the more you 
are able to think.” 

Harry was overcome with modesty. 

‘‘Oh, ’twasn’t anything,” he said. “I can swim pretty 
good, and so it was the easiest thing in the world to get 
to you. It would have been a different matter afterwards 
if you hadn’t had the pluck to keep still.” 

“Not pluck — indifference. If you can only make your- 
self a thorough fatalist, what the world calls pluck is the 
easiest thing possible.” 

“Don’t tell me! ” the old man put in. “Them chaps 
as talk most of bein’ fatalists are th’ ones what calls out 
loudest when you pricks ’em. But why did ye want to 
cross the river in such an all-fired hurry? ” 

“As the old riddle hath it — to get to the other side. 
Mind you, I crossed it yesterday, and it didn’t seem to 
me to be much higher than it was then. That’s where I 
tripped up, of course. But one day in Vansrust excuses 
a man for taking risks when he is trying to escape. I’m 
with a big Johannesburg firm, you know. Engineers, 
and so on. Sent to Vansrust to report and give an esti- 
mate as to putting up a plant to generate electricity, and 
make blankets, and heaven only knows what else. They 
said it was a good river all the year round. Personally 
I don’t think much of it. It tastes simply rotten. More- 
over, there will never be a mill at Vansrust. They seemed 
to think it could be put up for about a couple of thousand, 
and the enthusiasts who were instrumental in getting 
me sent here were staggered at the initial expense. Even 
I am an expensive luxury. I dare say they are now 
quarrelling as to who is to pay the account. But what 
a hole ! Thought that if I got across now, I could go on 
by moonlight, and reach the railway in time to catch 
the noon train to-morrow. Only one a day, you know. 
There’s my present history, gentlemen. I suppose you 
are riding transport. Er — brothers?” 


i6 


The Debt 


“ Oh, get along wid ye ! ” old Ryan exclaimed, though 
obviously pleased. “Me snow-white, an’ him a slip of a 
boy an’ all ! Sixty-five I am, an’ him only — let me see — 
thirty, ain’t it, Harry boy? ” 

“Thirty-five.” 

“You don’t say! Years keep all on slippin’ by, don’t 
they, Mr. Lensford? Reckon ye must just put up wid us 
for to-night, an’ maybe if th’ old Kalebe’s down to- 
morrow, they’ll fish out th’ cape-cart an’ send ye along. 
There’s plenty to eat, an’ ye’re more’n welcome.” 

“Well, it’s awfully decent of you, and as there is no 
earthly prospect of catching the train to-morrow, I shall 
be jolly glad if you’ll put up with me. You’ve got some 
fine oxen there.” 

He had struck the right note with the old man. 

“Ay,” he answered, “I’m not sayin’ as they ain’t a 
real good span. Will ye just be havin’ a look at ’em, or 
are ye tired? Harry boy, will ye give a bit of an eye 
to the skoff? Mr. Lensford here’s sayin’ what fine beasts 
we have.” 

He strolled off with the stranger, and pointed out the 
various beauties of the oxen. 

“Now just ye look at that one — ain’t he a whopper? ” 
he said, pausing beside the big red leader. “Ye wouldn’t 
b’lieve how cute he is. I calls him Robinson. ...” 

He paused suggestively, and Lensford felt that he was 
expected to say something. 

“Why ‘Robinson’?” he asked, at a venture. 

“Well, ye see,” old Ryan answered confidentially, “I 
bought him as a bit of a calf, an’ he grew so powerful 
big. Grew so, ye see — Robinson Grewso.” 

Lensford laughed obligingly. 

“Any more like that?” he asked. 

“ Well, the black-an ’-white one there I calls ‘ Fruit Salt. ’ ” 

“ Because ? ” 

The old man chuckled gleefully. 

“Oh, ’e knows,” he replied. 

“Well, I’m Look here, it isn’t fair to fire off those 

jokes at a man who has just been saved from drowning.” 

“’Tain’t nothin’, to some of ’em. Some of ’em is that 
complicated I disremembers just why I named them half 
th’ time. The one wid th’ broken horn — him over yon — 


The Charm of Contrast 17 

I calls ‘ Armour. ’ Got a lump jest above his off hind hoof 
he has. Corn, ye see. Corned beef — Armour. Then the 
black one there I calls ‘ Bookworm.’ Always goin’ about 
wid a long tail. An’ th’ two what carries th’ disselboom 
I calls Maggie an’ Zena. Oh, but that was a powerful 
fine idee that. There is a name Zena, ain’t there? Ye 
see, both of ’em hev bin inoculated against lunksick, an’ 
their tails have come off. Bit of a stump each, an’ that’s 
all. D’ye see? ” 

Lensford admitted that he didn’t, and the old man 
winked happily. 

“Well, ye see,’’ he went on, “it’s this way. Only got 
short tails, so that’s like a magazine, ain’t it? So I calls 
’em Maggie an’ Zena ! Ah ! Thought that would jest 
about tickle ye, I did ! Ye wouldn’t believe how I sits up 
hour after hour, sometimes, thinkin’ out new names for 
’em. Have ye had about enough?’’ 

Lensford admitted he had. 

“Mind you,” he added, “I think it’s dashed smart, but 
I’m not strong enough to bear more just now. And isn’t 
that your son calling us? ” 

“Why, so ’tis. Harry’s a wonder at gettin’ things 
cooked quick, an’ ye’ll find he’s made somethin’ pretty 
tastyi for us. Best boy as ever breathed, he is, an’ him 
wid lots o’ lamin’ too. Work out sums as ’ud surprise 
ye, he can, an’ no trouble worth talkin’ about. An’ read ! 
Why, a book that’ll keep me busy an’ all for best part of 
three months, he’ll finish in a couple o’ days.” 

They strolled towards the wagon, their feet pressing 
into the soft, black earth of the river bank, and the smell 
of the crushed reeds rising like incense on the cool evening 
air. To the west the sky was a blaze of golden glory, the 
few fleecy clouds which still lingered after the storm of 
the previous day being tinged to changing hues of smoky 
and iridescent pink. The old man heaved a sigh of vast 
satisfaction as his gaze swept round the horizon, to rest 
in proprietary admiration on the grazing cattle. 

“There’s a powerful lot o’ beef on old Robinson,” he 
said at last, nodding meditatively in the direction of the 
big red ox. 

“He’d fetch a good price as a slaughter beast,” Lens- 
ford suggested casually, 
c 


i8 


The Debt 


“Slaughter beast? What — old Robinson? You better 
b’lieve he ain’t goin’ that way. Some of ’em, p’raps, if 
the price was right; but ’tis the truth I’m tellin’ ye, Mr. 
Lensford, when I says that if a steak from Robinson was 
served to me, done beautiful, an’ wid lots of onions all 
over it, an’ a little bit o’ butter, an’ new pertaties, an’ — 
an’ bread an’ all, I couldn’t eat it no more’n I could fly! ” 

Lensford nodded appreciatively. 

“Just the same with me, about horses,” he replied. 
“Now, I confess I can’t see anything to be fond of in an 
old cow ” 

“Cow? An’ d’ye think I goes trekking round wid 
cows? ” 

“ Ox, then. Same thing — at least, same as an argument. 
What I mean is that to me there seems a lack of intelli- 
gence and interest in an ox. A horse is different. But I 
dare say you, with your greater experience, have found 
that even the stolid bovine is able to inspire affection. 
That red one — that’s Robinson, isn’t it? — looked at you 
in a most knowing way when we passed.” 

“True f’r ye ! Didn’t I tell ye he was the smartest old 
cuss ye ever saw? Mind ye. I’m not sayin’ as I don’t 
prefer a horse some ways, but when ye’ve only got oxen, 
’tis wicked waste o’ time to love horses.” 

“ Most excellent philosophy ! And so to dinner. You 
know, it’s awfully decent of you both to take me in like 
this, after saving my life, and fixing me up with clothes. 
But you’ve done it in such a matter-of-fact manner that 
it seems unnecessary to thank you. After all, effusive 
thanks rather tend to indicate that the favour was unex- 
pected. Now I’m sure you don’t wish to be thanked.” 

“An’ what for shud we be thanked?” old Ryan de- 
manded. “Didn’t I nigh on throw ye back in th’ river, 
an’ you full of water an’ all? More shame to me, me 
bein’ old enough to know better. An’ didn’t Harry shake 
ye till y’r teeth rattled. Honours even, says I, an’ no 
thanks either side.” 

“I opened a tin of beef, father,” Harry put in, possibly 
with the idea of changing the subject. Like all dwellers 
in the wilds, he was intensely bashful when any deed of 
real heroism on his part was likely to be discussed. 
“Stewed it up with the potatoes, because I thought it 


The Charm of Contrast 


19 

would be more tasty than the sardines. Bit of bacon in 
too. Pity it’s the close season, Mr. Lensford, or maybe 
we’d have had some buck to give you. There’s plenty 
of springbok on those flats away towards the Sinku, and 
we get a shot sometimes.” 

Lensford seated himself gratefully on an empty paraffin 
case, while the old man squatted easily on the bare earth. 
Young Ryan lifted the three-legged Kaffir pot from the 
fire, and divided the contents into three portions with much 
attention to detail. Having satisfied himself that each tin 
plate had its due fragment of bacon, in addition to the 
more plentiful potatoes and bully beef, he handed them 
round, and bestowed himself beside his father. 

It was a friendly, pleasant little meal, with the shadows 
of evening softening the harsh lines of horizon, and 
lessening that effect of immense distance. In the river 
close by the frogs sang their evensong lustily, to the 
indescribable accompaniment of water whispering among 
the reeds, or splashing over some rock-strewn shallow. 
Near by, the oxen pulled busily at the early summer grass, 
and the native boys chanted softly as they prepared their 
own simple meal. Everywhere was peace, perfect and 
absolute, and Lensford appreciated it to the full. 

“What surprises me,” he said finally, when the corned 
beef was a thing of the past, and the tinned peaches which 
had followed it had been dealt with, ‘‘is that any idiots 
can stay in town when there is this sort of life. I am 
one of the idiots. I nearly get drowned in a frantic 
effort to get back to Johannesburg, and when I do arrive 
there — what? Same old round. Work, work, work, 
because if you don’t you will have time to think too 
much, and that would be fatal. In the evenings go to 
the theatre, or the Empire, and drink a dashed sight 
more than is good for you. Stick to it for a year, and 
you’re no better off than when you started. Queer, isn’t 
it? ” 

‘‘I got no sort o’ use f’r Johannesburg,” the old man 
remarked contentedly, as he filled a huge calabash pipe 
which was reserved for evening use. 

‘‘I should like to see it,” Harry put in, a little wist- 
fully. “You see, Mr. Lensford, riding transport you 
don’t get in touch with the towns. Kimberley occasion- 


20 


The Debt 


ally, or perhaps King Williams Town, according to where 
you happen to be riding ; but I know nothing really about 
them. Sort of feel out of place and scarey in a town.” 

Lensford laughed. 

“I was at King Williams Town once,” he replied, “and 
it made me feel ‘ scarey,’ as you say. About the last 
place ever made, I should think, and calculated to drive 
any ordinary man stark, staring mad in a month. But 
there is a little life in Johannesburg. Lots of pretty girls 
for you, Ryan, and quite willing to be taken out and 
made a fuss of. You need never go to the theatre by 
yourself, you know.” 

“What d’ye say to that, Harry boy? ” old Ryan asked. 
“Never had much truck wid girls,” he explained to Lens- 
ford; “but reckon he’s old enough to want to. Don’t 
tell me, Harry ! If a pretty girl was to ask ye to kiss 
her, ye’d be all for it — ye know ye would ! ” 

Harry blushed in a most convincing fashion. 

“Oh, I’ve spoken to heaps and heaps of girls,” he said, 
striving to speak casually. “ Got used to them when I 
was a nipper, and you left me to school down at Beaufort. 
Some of ’em pretty girls, too.” 

“ Hearken to him ! An’ him riding transport wid me 
all these years, an’ never so much as sayin’ a word. Ye 
know what an interest I take in girls, Harry boy, an’ ye 
might have told me. When I were a shlip of a boy, Mr. 
Lensford, I was very gay wid the girls. Oh, powerful 
gay I was. There was a song we used to sing about 
‘ Molly, wid eyes so brown,’ an’ I could sing more’n a 
little then. But Harry there, s’ far as I knew, never 
seemed to take no sort of interest in ’em.” 

Harry went to the wagon, and returned with a heavy 
blanket over his arm. He spread this out by the fire, 
and then turned to Lensford. 

“You’d best lie on this so long,” he said. “The ground 
is a bit damp, and you’re not used to it. We turn in 
pretty early as a rule, but I’d like to talk for an hour or 
so — if you’re not tired.” 

Lensford stretched himself at full length on the blanket, 
and puffed contentedly at his pipe. 

“Tired?” he said. “Not a bit of it. This is quite 
an experience for me, and I am enjoying it immensely. 


The Charm of Contrast 21 


Now that corned beef we had ! It was ripping- ! and yet 
if they offered it to me in Johannesburg, I should start in 
to find another restaurant. Quaint, isn’t it? You don’t 
know how nice it is to feel that you can say just what you 
like, and that no one is trying to get at you. In Johannes- 
burg the men you meet, even at the clubs and the 
theatres, are the men you may want in business, and so 
you are supposed to be always on your guard. Not that 
I care a hang myself, but then I have the name for being 
different. It always pays to get a name for being differ- 
ent from other people — it stamps you, and excuses a 
multitude of sins. In Johannesburg the most dreadful sin 
is to dislike a man who may give you an order at some 
time or other. But I’m afraid I’m talking awful 
shop.” 

Old Ryan seemed a trifle puzzled, but Harry nodded. 

“Go on, please,” he said. 

“Well, we all work there, you see, and as there are 
such a dashed lot of us, we haven’t time to be too nice in 
our methods. You go to a big dance at the Carlton, and 
you probably meet your lady typist, and the man who 
served you with a straw hat two days before, and the 
man who has been worrying you to insure your life for 
the past month or so, and a few mine magnates, and a 
housekeeper or two, and some young girls who ought to 
be smacked and put to bed, and some local celebrities for 
whom smacking would be a positive compliment, and so 
on. It is quite interesting.” 

“And what is the room like where they dance?” Harry 
demanded, keeping his eyes fixed on Lensford’s face, and 
allowing his pipe to go out unnoticed. 

“ Oh, rather a fine room generally. Depends where you 
dance. Lots of electric lights, you know, and palms, and 
decorations, and a good floor. Band hidden away in a 
gallery, or huddled on a bit of a platform at the end. 
Places to sit outside, and— and so on, you know.” 

The old man roused himself. 

“D’ye remember that bit of a dance we had down at 
Van der Merwe’s place? Two years ago — or maybe 
three. Ye must remember, Harry boy. Kep’ at it from 
sundown till th’ mornin’ but one after, wid one or two 
intervals. Oh, ’twas a great time! Them as couldn’t 


22 


The Debt 


get in danced outside, an’ fell over them as was havin’ a 
bit of a snooze like.” 

Harry nodded absently. 

“Yes, father — I remember,” he said. “But tell me, 
Mr. Lensford, do the girls wear dresses all open, like 
you see them in pictures? ” 

“More or less — frequently more. But you must have 
seen them? ” 

“No. Only in pictures. And what do you do? What 
is it all like? ” 

Lensford settled himself comfortably, and began a long 
recital of life in Johannesburg. From dances he wandered 
on to some of his own experiences, and from those to the 
experiences of others. He talked of the quite distinctive 
and cosmopolitan life of the Rand, and humorously 
touched on the adventures of some of its public characters. 
From this to the races, and sport generally, was but a 
step, and when he eventually came to a conclusion it was 
after ten o’clock. 

Old Ryan was sleeping peacefully where he lay, but 
the younger man was very much awake. Never before 
had he heard the town life painted in such alluring yet 
convincing colours, and his whole being was swayed. The 
inquisitiveness with which he was cursed had him in its 
grip, and he would have liked to go on questioning for 
hours. But the guest was obviously tired, and he rose 
to his feet reluctantly. 

“Best be turning in, Mr. Lensford,” he said, and his 
voice was as unemotional as usual. “Maybe we’ll have 
to be up early to-morrow, if the Kalebe’s gone down. 
Thanks for talking to me, and — good-night. You’ll find 
some blankets in the far wagon, and you can sleep there.” 

Lensford, quite unaware of the impression he had made, 
rose and stretched himself. 

“I suppose it is a bit late for you,” he said. “Lord, 
fancy going back to Johannesburg after this 1 Good- 
night, Ryan, and sleep well.” 


CHAPTER III 

YOUNG RYAN’s decision 

The sun was risen when old Ryan roused Lensford the 
next morning. The oxen were inspanned, breakfast was 
ready, and it was evident that a start was to be made 
very soon. 

“Are ye awake, Mr. Lensford?” the old man called 
out. “Th’ old Kalebe’s gone down matter of a couple of 
feet during the night, an’ I reckon we can get across. 
Don’t want to waste much time, because ye never know 
just when she’ll be cornin’ down again. They’re fishin’ 
out your cape-cart now, and maybe she’ll be dry after a 
spell. Old Harris — him that runs th’ hotel — have sent 
me a note to say that ye owe him three pound for damage, 
an’ if ye think it fair ye may hand it to me. Reckon it 
ain’t dear at the price. Cut all the traces, an’ made a 
mess o’ most things. But th’ whole outfit ain’t worth 
much more’n ten pound, barrin’ th’ horses, which wasn’t 
damaged at all.” 

“I’ll be with you in a brace of shakes, dear old 

Fa ” Lensford began, and then recollected himself. 

“That is,” he added, “I shall be visible in a minute or 
two, Mr. Ryan senior.” 

“Right y’are. Harry ’ve baked some flapjacks a treat, 
an’ we’ve got best part of a tin o’ treacle for ’em. D’ye 
know, old Robinson portended t’ poke me just now ! He 
did, sure as y’re alive. Just his fun, of course, an’ him 
sort o’ chuckling to himself when he see me jump. I 
lambasted th’ old rip wid the handle of a pick, so I reckon 
I got th’ best of th’ joke. Fruit Salt ain’t lookin’ any 
too bright this mornin’, an’ I reckon he’ve got a pain. 
Always was one to eat too much when he got the chance, 
an’ the grass hereabouts is too rich f’r him. Nothin’ 
serious, ye know, but feelin’ a bit poorly.” 

Lensford scrambled out of the wagon and drew in a 
deep breath of the morning air. 

“Generally speaking,” he observed, “I can sympathise 

23 


The Debt 


24 

with the early morning feeling of Fruit Salt, but to-day 
is an exception. Head’s as clear as a bell, and I feel 
like a two-year-old. Now why in thunder do I want to 
get back to Johannesburg? Can you tell me?” 

“Jest th’ way ye’re made, I s’pose,” the old man 
hazarded. “If all of us felt th' same, I reckon we’d all 
be f’r livin’ in town, or in the country, as the case might 
be. An’ if there was no towns, where w’ud all th’ money 
come from? ” 

“I suppose that’s it. Money! We all want it.” 

“No; there y’re wrong, Mr. Lensford. I don’t want 
money. It jest worries me when I gets too much of it. 
If ye got lots o’ money, ye can buy everything ye wants, 
an’ then what’s the good of wantin’ anything? Ye don’t 
know how mighty fine ’tis to buy somethin’ ye know ye 
can’t afford — somethin’ as ye know ye shouldn’t ought t’ 
buy. Them as is rich can’t never know that feelin’, an’ I 
reckon it’s jest about th’ best feelin’ there is.” 

“ More philosophy ! ” 

“Ay, maybe. I remember one time ’bout twenty years 
past, when a man named Bryan an’ myself made a pot o’ 
money ridin’ transport to Johannesburg when the drought 
was on. Happened t’ be in Kimberley at th’ time, an’ got 
hold of a good team o’ mules. Cussed, contrairy things 
mules. We worked it f’r all ’twas worth, him bein’ a 
man wid a business head on him when he wasn’t drunk, 
an’ in th’ end I was landed in Kimberley wid a powerful 
lot of cash. What did I do? Went to a jeweller fellow 
an’ asked f’r a di’mond ring. He looks a bit sideways 
at me, but I wasn’t af eared. I picks out one wid three 
stones in it, all bright and shiny. ‘ How much this one? ’ 
says I. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘I used t’ get about a bit 
myself one time, so I’m not a-goin’ to do ye. Call it fifty 
pound.’ D’ye know, Mr. Lensford, I ups and pays for 
that ring right away, an’ th’ other man hands me back 
five pound, an’ says ‘ that’ll do for discount. ’ Nice, friendly 
sort o’ man he were, an’ not a bit proud. But did I want 
a di’mond ring? Divil a bit. ’Twas just th’ feelin’ that 
I knowed I didnH want a di’mond ring, an’ that I had no 
sort o’ right to buy a di’mond ring. No manner o’ use 
to me, an’ I still got it somewhere around. Care to look 
at it?” 


Young Ryan’s Decision 25 

He made a pretence of fumbling in his pockets, and 
then went to the wagon and looked there, eventually 
returning with a small case done up in numerous 
wrappings of rag. 

“There!” he said triumphantly. “What d’ye think 
of her? ” 

Lensford examined the ring carefully, and handed it back. 

“What do I think of it,” he said. “Why, it appears 
to me that you found an honest jeweller, and I didn’t 
know there were any in this country. That ring is worth 
every penny you paid for it, and the stones are 
excellent.” 

Old Ryan sighed heavily... 

“There now!” he exclaimed, obviously disappointed, 
“an’ me always tellin’ myself that it couldn't be worth 
more’n ten pound or so, me bein’ so simple an’ all, an’ 
jewellers smart ’s you like. But still, even if ’tis worth 
th’ money, I had no sort o’ right to buy it, had I? ” He 
cheered up at the thought. “Fifty pound for a thing 
what is no manner o’ use to me, an’ me a transport rider ! 
You better b’lieve, Mr. Lensford, that ’tis a powerful lot 
of enjoyment I gets from that ring. When I’m feelin’ a 
bit down, an’ things is goin’ wrong maybe, I takes it out 
an’ looks at it, an’ it makes me laugh all over t’ think what 
a divil of a fellow I must ha’ been to spend money like 
that.” 

He chuckled as he restored the jewel to its resting- 
place, and then turned as his son came up to say that 
breakfast was waiting. 

“Good-morning, Mr. Lensford,” the younger Ryan 
said, “and I hope you slept well. I kept all on thinking 
and thinking of what you told me about Johannesburg. 
Man, but it must be a fine place ! ” 

“What, Johannesburg? Dirty, dusty hole! But if 
you like the sound of it, why not give me a look up there 
some time or other? ” 

Young Ryan gazed at him with open mouth, as though 
some prospect of dazzling possibility had suddenly been 
shown to him. He tugged once or twice at his soft brown 
beard, and then looked away. 

“You’re joking, Mr. Lensford,” he said huskily. 

“Joking? Not a bit of it. Look here, Ryan, I’m not 


26 


The Debt 


much good at talking, and in most ways I’m a pretty 
bad lot. But ingratitude is not one of my sins. You 
pulled me out of the river last night, and though you 
may laugh at that and regard it as nothing, you can’t get 
away from the fact that you saved my life. A small 
matter, in that my life is of no great worth, but one 
that appeals to me. My dear chap, if you care to 
come to Johannesburg, I shall be only too delighted to 
look after you, and you can be my guest as long as you 
like. You’ve saved my life, and I’ve eaten your salt — 
what more do you want? Friends we are, Ryan, and I 
never go back on a friend. What’s mine is yours, and 
also what I manage to get from other people who are not 
my friends. And you, too, Mr. Ryan senior ! Come to 
Johannesburg, and I’ll give you the time of your life. 
I’ll demonstrate to you just how to spend more money 
than you can afford, and I have no doubt you will be 
vastly entertained.” 

“ ’Tis powerful kind of ye, Mr. Lensford,” the old man 
answered, “but I reckon I’m a bit too old f’r th’ gay life. 
Harry, now. I’m not sayin’, an’ one of these days, maybe, 
he’ll be cornin’ up to see th’ place. What d’y.e say, 
Harry boy? ” 

There was a glitter of excitement in the eyes of the 
younger man, but his voice was quite calm when he 
replied — 

“Don’t reckon I can get away,” he said. “I’ll just get 
breakfast now, so as not to waste' any time.” 

He walked over to the fire, and the old man turned to 
Lensford with a chuckle. 

“Mark my words, Mr. Lensford,” he said, “ye’ll be 
havin’ Harry on y’r hands ’fore ye know where ye are. 
Th’ boy’s mad to see a bit o’ life. Best boy as ever was, 
too, an’ I’m tellin’ ye as knows him. An’ reg’lar town 
manners, too ! Has his bath every mornin’, if so be as 
we are near water; an’ I does th’ same, so’s he won’t 
have no call to be ’shamed of th’ old man. Powerful 
cold in winter, too. See him at it then, just th’ same as 
though ’twas summer ! An’ me pretendin’ as I likes it, 
knowin’ all th’ time that I hadn’t managed to work up a 
bit of a sweat like all the day before, an’ no more needed 
a bath than any one else.” 


Young Ryan’s Decision 27 

He shook his head thoughtfully at the recollection of 
those unnecessary baths, and then walked with Lensford 
to where young Ryan was dishing up the flapjacks. 

It was a satisfying meal, even if the flapjacks were a 
shade on the heavy side, and Lensford licked his fingers 
carefully where the treacle had run on to them, and then 
asked again why he wanted to get back to Johannesburg. 

“Jest th’ way ye’re made,” the old man said, “same as 
I telled ye before. Reckon ye’d be tired of this in less ’n 
a week. An’ Johannesburg would drive me mad in ’bout 
th’ same time. Everything what’s new sort o’ hits ye 
up at first. When ye’re a nipper ye likes sweets because 
ye don’t get ’em reg’lar; but if ye had to eat sweets all 
th’ time, reckon ye’d like bread an’ butter f’r a change. 
I see they’ve got th’ old cape-cart fixed up over yon, an’ 
th’ nigger will be cornin’ across for ye.’’ 

Lensford looked across the river to where the boy was 
inspanning the horses, and, in spite of his reluctance to 
get back to Johannesburg, he became suddenly interested. 

“That’s good,” he said briskly. “You don’t think he 
could make the railway by noon, do you? Even if he 
hammered the horses? No, I was afraid not. Still, it 
will be something to get away from this land of desolation, 
and if I have to sleep in the waiting-room at the way- 
back station, I shall at least be sure of to-morrow’s train. 
Doesn’t do to take risks hereabouts, when you never know 
just which river is going to come down in flood. Why, 
in heaven’s name, don’t they build bridges? ” 

“Because they costs money.” 

“Well, it’s worth it. I suppose I’d better be going on 
at once, though I’d really like to come on with you chaps 
and see a little more of this kind of life. But I don’t 
want to get on the wrong side of that cussed river again, 
and you’re crossing, aren’t you?” 

He broke ofF to watch the cape-cart on the other side 
of the river. There was a little difficulty at first, for the 
horses remembered the experience of the previous even- 
ing, and jibbed at the water. But with a little coaxing 
the bov got them in, and they splashed slowly across. In 
the middle of the stream the water only reached to their 
bellies, and they were soon safely across. Lensford 
heaved a little sigh of relief, and rose to his feet. 


28 


The Debt 


“That means I’m to go,” he said. “Don’t think me 
ungracious in wanting to rush off like this, but the town’s 
calling me, and I’m meant for the town, I suppose. And 
don’t you forget this. If ever either of you, or both of 
you, care to come to Johannesburg, come to me. A debt’s 
a debt, and I feel I should like to pay off some of mine. 
And it would be a real pleasure to me, too — it really 
would.” 

“Oh, as to that, there ain’t no debt,” the old man 
replied. “An’ there’s no call for ye to think so. An’ ye 
never know what ye’re lettin’ other people in for when ye 
pays some debts. I ’member Ikey Solomons — him as 
used to have th’ store down by Ootjie’s Drift, on the 
Vaal. Jack Sandiman — him wid the big black beard — 
you ’member, Harry? — owed him a matter of three pound, 
an’ Ikey were powerful unhappy about it. Well, Jack got 
a job at ridin’ transport, an’ outspanned close by' Ikey’s 
store one night. Ikey knew th’ outfit didn’t belong to 
Jack, but that one of the bucksails did. Went down quiet 
like an’ collared it. Rained like all creation that night, 
an’ Jack’s load was flour. Spoiled th’ whole lot, an’ 
Jack was clean broke up ’bout it. Had to quit, an’ went 
to th’ di’mond diggings. After a few months, struck 
lucky he did, an’ made a pot o’ money. Come back one 
day, an’ went to see Ikey. Ikey, bein’ a Jew, telled him 
as how things were all goin’ bad, an’ he was pretty nigh 
ruined. Ye’ve noticed that wid a Jew, maybe? Always 
tells other Jews he’s makin’ a powerful lot o’ money, so’s 
to appear smart; an’ always tells Christians he’s doin’ 
very bad, so’s to be able to make it. Funny notions o’ 
pride they have. Mind ye, I’m not sayin’ as old Jack 
hadn’t been drinkin’. Full as a tick he was, an’ generous 
as you like. Well, he ups an’ says to th’ Jew as he’s 
going to heap coals o’ fire on him, him bein’ fond of 
sayin’ things as didn’t mean anythin’ in pertic’lar. With 
that he ups an’ gives him a matter of twenty pound, all 
in notes, an’ says as he reckons th’ debt between them 
was pretty well squared up. You better b’lieve Ikey froze 
on to th’ cash, and ’peared powerful grateful. Well, 
maybe Jack thought he had a bit of a debt to pay, or 
maybe he were just plumb drunk, but I reckon it didn’t 
do any sort o’ moral good to Ikey. All I know is that 


Young Ryan’s Decision 29 

next time we outspanned by th’ drift, I key stole one o’ 
my bucksails.” 

Lensford laughed. 

“I don’t see that that affects me in any way,” he said, 
“and the invitation still holds. But we’ll level things up 
by your giving me permission to come on trek with you 
whenever I can manage to take a holiday, and feel like the 
simple life. That may occur at any moment, for I am a 
creature of impulse. What d’you say?” 

“Oh, as t’ that, ye’re welcome any time ye like to come 
along, an’ we’re always glad of comp’ny, the road bein’ 
powerful lonesome like. But how’ll ye know where to 
find us, us bein’ like to be anywheres from time to time? ” 

“ Well, perhaps your son can drop me a postcard at odd 
intervals, saying where you are likely to be found. I’ll 
leave my address with you.” 

“I’d do that, and glad, Mr. Lensford,” young Ryan 
put in. “If you care to come with us for a trip, I’ll see 
to it that you have as good a time as possible, and it will 
be a real change for you.” 

“Thanks. But don’t forget the other side of the 
picture. Any time you care to drop in on me, you know. 
You needn’t think that I shall forget, or that you need 
to prepare me. Just stroll along to this address and ask 
for me. If I’m not in, wait. I’ll fix you up as to where 
to stay, and constitute myself your host as long as you 
like. It’s a bet, eh?” 

Young Ryan nodded, and then the men shook hands. 
Lensford regarded the mud-grimed cape-cart distastefully, 
climbed into the back seat, and settled himself down. 

“Funnyi thing, isn’t it?” he said. “Johannesburg is 
about the most dusty and most unlovely place in the 
world, and I want to get back to it. I loathe most of the 
people there, and ... I want to get back to them ! Men 
without a spark of common decency, and brazen women 
who don’t even know enough to paint their faces passably, 
and yet they are all parts of a cosmopolitan whole that 
has a tremendous attraction for some of us. The only 
thing is that you mustn’t think, and you mustn’t analyse, 
or you’d be ashamed of yourself for liking the place. But 
I’m afraid I’m talking a bit out of my depth. So long, 
dear old Father Christmas — I use that purely as a term 


The Debt 


30 

of affection, so don’t try to heave me into the river again. 
See you in Johannesburg one of these days, Ryan.” 

He nodded to his driver, and the horses broke into a 
shambling trot. The two transport riders looked after 
him a while in silence, and it was the old man who turned 
first to the waiting wagons. 

“Reckon we’d best be gettin’ on, Harry boy,” he said, 
and his voice had a ring of wistfulness in it. “Th’ 
dratted old Kalebe ’ll come down again, like ’s not, an’ ’t 
won’t do to waste time. Klaas ! Ye double-jointed, slit- 
eyed, yeller-faced imp of sin, ye ! Git t’ th’ head, an’ 
straighten ’em out, drat ye! Steady now — st-eady. Tm 
lookin’ at ye, Robinson ! Pertendin’ ye wants to git on 
an’ all. Sort of pawin’ th’ ground, aren’t ye? An’ divil 
a pull wance we’re started. Don’t tell me — I knows ye ! ” 

The Hottentot tugged at the reimpjie tied to the horns 
of the leading oxen, and the whole span quickly came up 
to their yokes, and stood waiting the signal to start. The 
old man ran his eye down the even line, and nodded in a 
satisfied manner. Then he looked towards the other 
wagon, where young Ryan was still occupied in getting 
his span ready. Everything being to his liking, he sud- 
denly let out an ear-piercing roar, which was obviously 
understood by his own oxen. They came up to the chain 
together, and there was a momentary pause as the strain 
worked the wagon out of the soft earth of the outspan. 
The old man cracked his whip once or twice for the sake 
of moral effect, and addressed a few pointed remarks to 
Robinson, who seemed to be doing his best, and then the 
wagon rolled smoothly and easily down to the hardened 
road by the drift, and the oxen splashed philosophically 
into the water. 

“’Taren’t often I takes th’ lead, Harry boy,” old Ryan 
called out over his shoulder, “but th’ old man’s got past 
ye this time.” 

He swung himself deftly on to the tail of the wagon 
as it crunched into the soft, gravelly^ sand at the edge of 
the drift, and watched the muddy water swirling higher 
and higher as the near bank was left behind. With the 
ease born of much practice he steadied himself with one 
hand as the wagon jolted over the occasional rocks in the 
river-bed, and he showed no particular emotion as the 


Young Ryan’s Decision 31 

water rose higher and higher, till the axles of the wheels 
were submerged. He knew the Kalebe too well to make 
any mistake as to its depth, and in a very few minutes the 
crossing was safely negotiated, and the span proceeded 
on their steady, patient way towards Vansrust. 

It was perhaps an hour later when young Ryan came 
up to talk to his father. The going was quite level, and 
the oxen needed no attention beyond that of the voor- 
loopers, whilst even these were more or less unnecessary. 
Put a team on a well-defined road, and they will keep on 
at the same steady, heart-breaking rate foY hour after 
hour, for the most part utterly oblivious as to whether 
they are being driven or not. The moral effect of man 
is there, and apparently that is enough. Often will you 
find the transport rider dozing in his wagon, whilst at 
the head of the oxen there may be a diminutive native of 
some eight or nine years. Sometimes there is no voor- 
looper at all. The oxen keep patiently on, while the 
burning sun beats down and the dust rises in choking 
clouds as their broad hoofs stir it up ; and at long intervals 
the transport rider rouses himself, and the report of his 
huge whip echoes for miles. It seems so very simple and 
unintelligent, yet the novice would have his team tangled 
inextricably before he had travelled a couple of miles. 
And there are few really good drivers of oxen. 

Young Ryan walked up to the leading wagon, and 
swung himself up beside his father. 

“Come to that,” he said, as though just answering the 
remark shouted to him at the drift, for there is no need of 
^ hurry with an ox-wagon — “come to that, ’tisn’f often I 
see you riding on the wagon. Tired, father? ” 

“Th’ old man ain’t so old as all that, Harry boy. Jest 
thinkin’ like. ’Tis a powerful good place to think — th’ 
tail of a wagon — f’r ye don’t have a chance to get into a 
groove, as th’ sayin’ is. Ye get nicely started ’bout 
somethin’ or other, wid the facks all round ye, an’ no sort 
of argiment possible, an’ beho’d ye! Bump! she goes 
over an ant-heap, or a wash-away, or a bit of a rock 
maybe, an’ all y’r thoughts is sent anyways, an’ maybe 
when ye start again ye get it all diff’rent like.”' 

“Ay. Plenty of time to think all ways when you’re 
riding transport.” 


The Debt 


32 

“An’ why not? ’Tis a man’s life, Harry boy.” 

“Some men’s. But not a man who thinks — who won- 
ders what else there is besides just the same old road — 
stretching out just the same day after day, with the same 
outspan at the going down of the sun, and the same again 
the next day. With all the other world changing about 
you, and battles, and love, and — and men dying and all, 
while you go on just the same day after day, month after 
month, year after year. Look at the oxen, inspanned 
almost the same as they were when David was king, like 
you read in the Bible. It’s like standing still while every 
one else is hurrying on in front.” 

The old man did not seem surprised. He pulled medi- 
tatively at his pipe, and regarded his son from shrewd but 
kindly eyes. 

“ Mr. Lensford? ” he queried simply, after a long interval. 

“Ay — Mr. Lensford ! Look at him — him being no older 
than I am, so far as I can see, but what a difference ! He 
has seen what life is, and has ridden about in trains, and 
been on ships, and talked with all kinds of wonderful 
people, very/ like. He has been to all the theatres, like 
I read about, and dances, and big dinners, and — and 
things like that.” 

He turned to his father suddenly, and his eyes were 
alight with the desire to see and know things. 

“Father,” he said, “I want to see some of those things 
for myself ! I want to go to a big town, and not be afraid of 
— of all sorts of things. I want to go to the theatres, and 
be gay, and see women. I want — I want to be wicked.” 

His voice dropped almost to a whisper, and he looked 
away as though ashamed of his outburst. Old Ryan leant 
over and patted him kindly on the shoulder. 

“An’ why not, Harry boy — why not? ’Tisn’t f’r th’ 
likes o’ me to say what’s right an’ what ain’t. Maybe 
ye shud have had y’r fling when ye was younger like, but 
I took ye wid me on th’ road, an’ there ye’ve been ever 
since. ’Tis only natural like that ye wants to see things 
f’r y’rself, ye bein’ a man wid lots more brain than most, 
an’ full of curiosity an’ all. ’Twas bound to come sooner 
or later, an’ often ’t is I’ve wondered at ye keepin’ all on, 
year after year, trekkin’ round wid th’ old man, or workin’ 
on our bit of land.” 


Young Ryan’s Decision 33 

“You know I don’t want to leave you, father. ’Tisn’t 
that at all I mean.” 

“Sure ’tisn’t! Don’t I know? Ye’ve been a powerful 
good son to me, an’ I knows ye too well t’ think ye wants 
t’ shunt th’ old man. ’Taren’t your nature. No, ye jest 
wants to see life, an’ to flirt wid the girls, an’ t’ be a gay 
dog f’r a spell, an’ small blame to ye, says I. An’ if so 
be ye wants to be real wicked, then th’ old man ain’t the 
one to go back on ye for it. ’Tain’t as if ye would do 
anythin’ low down, Harry boy, for don’t I know ye? 
Right or wrong, ’tis all a matter of opinion like, an’ I 
don’t hold wid churches, an’ people bein’ paid big salaries 
to tell ye their idees as to what ye shud do. Now f’r me, 
I think that heaven is somewheres, an’ hell maybe some- 
where else. Reckon I ain’t a sight worse nor the next 
man, an’ if so be I lands in either place, there’ll be lots 
of th’ men I knowed hereabouts, an’ ’t will be nice an’ 
friendly like. ’Member the long chap down at Garlick’s 
store? He was a slick up chap from England — called 
hisself a chartered accountant he did. That fellow was 
a fair marvel wid figures, when he was sober. Showed 
me lots an’ lots of books one day, an’ y’d better b’lieve 
they fair took y’r breath away. Sivin or eight he had, 
an’ he’d keep all on writin’ figgers, first in one, an’ then 
in ’nother, till ye wondered what in thunder was goin’ t’ 
happen. An’ then at th’ end, beho’d ye! he’d add up 
all th’ figgers in one book, an’ put ’em down; an’ all th’ 
figgers in another book, an’ put ’em down; an’ all th’ fig- 
gers in another book, an’ put ’em down; an’ so on. 
An’ d’ye know, Harry boy, at th’ end of it all may I be 
hemmed f’r ever an’ ever if ’t didn’t come out like th’ 
answer of one o’ them easy little sums. ’Tis th’ truth I’m 
tellin’ ye, f’r he showed me. Plain as ye like — so many 
pounds, shillings an’ pence on th’ one side, an’ exactly 
th’ same on t’other. Says I t’ him, ‘ An’ what’s th’ good 
of puttin’ down all them figgers, when ye knows th’ answer 
is cornin’ all square like that; seems a powerful waste o’ 
time t’ me.’ ‘ Well,’ says he, ‘ ye see I wants to know 
just what goes on ev’ry day.’ Now ’t appears t’ me that 
heaven must be very like that. If a man does ye a dirty 
trick, ye gets an entry on th’ one side, an’ that’s clear 
profit. If ye do him a dirty trick back again, ’tis all 
D 


The Debt 


34 

square, an’ don’t tell me that ye’re goin’ to be called 
over th’ coals ’bout it afterwards. ’Twould be onfair. 
Maybe th’ other man gits away before ye can hit back, 
or maybe ye don’t want to; an’ then ye keep that entry as 
a set-off if ye let out at any one hasty like. D’ye follow? ” 

“Ay.” 

“Well, at th’ end of it all, th’ man what have been 
keepin’ an eye on ye adds up th’ figgers, and there ye 
are ! If it comes all square, reckon ye goes slick into 
heaven. If there are more entries on th’ good side, p’raps 
ye gets a bit of fuss made of ye, ’cording to how many. 
If ye’re out of it, then ’tis only fair that ye have to make 
good some way or other. Now I reckon ye’ve got a 
powerful lot of entries on the good side, and mighty few 

on th’ other. ’Tis only fair that ye should have th’ 

chance to even things up a bit, an’ I’m not thinkin’ any 

th’ worse of ye for it. But don’t do anybody a dirty 

trick onless they’ve got ye that way first. As ye might 
say, be wicked, but don’t be mean. D’ye know, Harry 
boy, I tried powerful hard to be real wicked when I were 
a boy. I did, sure’s you’re alive.” 

Young Ryan looked up in some surprise, and then 
smiled affectionately. 

“Don’t tell me! ” he said incredulously. 

“’Tis th’ truth I’m tellin’ ye! But I hadn’t th’ pluck 
to be wicked, an’ that’s the sober truth. Fair scared 
every time I got goin’, an’ in th’ end couldn’t stand the 
feelin’ of bein’ scared, an’ ain’t been wicked more’n so-so 
since. I tell ye, it takes a good man to be really bad — 
or else one as is so naturally bad that he don’t get no sort 
of pleasure or excitement from it.” 

“Then you don’t mind ” 

“Mind? An’ who am I that I shud be mindin’? Ye’re 
old enough to know y’r own mind, Harry boy, an’ I never 
sets up to tell other people what they shud do. Leave 
that to the folks as is paid for it — an’ very well paid for it 
s’ far ’s I can see, says I. ’T must have been powerful 
slow f’r ye all these years, an’ ye’ve stood it wonnerfully 
well — ye’ve been a real good son. An’ now ye’re thirty- 
five, an’ ye’ve never been in a town worth mentionin’. 
Reckon ye’ll go to Johannesburg and see Mr. Lensford, 
hey?” 


35 


Young Ryan’s Decision 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“An’ why not? Nice a man ’s ye could wish t’ meet. 
An’ I’m not sayin’ as I shan’t like t’ hear all ’bout it 
when ye comes this way again. I ain’t so good even now 
but what I likes to hear all sorts o’ things. D’ye ever 
meet a good man what didn’t show keen when some one 
were tellin’ one o’ them naughty stories? Don’t tell 
me ! I knows them ! But ’t any rate I do say as I would 
like to be wicked if only I had the pluck. I don’t take 
no sort o’ credit for bein’ more or less good. I ain’t got 
no sort o’ use for the good man what makes a fuss of 
bein’ good, when all th’ time he’d like to be wicked, an’ 
most probable is. Look at some o’ th’ parsons, an’ them 
paid for bein’ good ! Whatever ye do, Harry boy, th’ 
old man won’t never have no call to be "shamed of ye, 
an’ don’t ye forget it. If ye have to murder some one, 
s’ long as ’tain’t me, reckon ’tain’t none of my business; 
for ye wouldn’t do it onless ye had some reason. But 
don’t do anythin’ mean.” 

“You’ve made it very easy, father,” the younger man 
said, tapping his pipe against the side of the wagon, and 
seeming much happier than he had been a few minutes 
before. The dull, lethargic look had passed from his face, 
and his eyes shone with eagerness to investigate the new 
worlds of promise. 

“Why, ye didn’t think I shud swallow ye?” the old 
man retorted. “ Still got a little sense yet, have the old 
man. Maybe ye’ll come back wid th’ wagons ’s far as 
Kimberley, an’ then I can pick up a Dutchman there? If 
ye wants to go, then th’ sooner th’ better, says I. There’s 
a matter of fifty pound put by for ye to take wid ye, an’ — 
an’ th’ ring ye’ve seen, which is worth a fairish amount.” 

“I shall want some money to start,” young Ryan 
replied, “but I’m hanged if I take that ring. Give me 
thirty pounds, father, and if I don’t get a start. I’ll come 
back for good and all.” 

“Spoke like a man, Harry boy. Mind ye. I’m thinkin’ 
th’ veld have got too strong a hold on- ye for ye t’ take 
t’ th’ town life f’r long. But that’s for ye to say. An’ 
I’m not sayin’ but what I shud miss that ring more’n a 
bit.” 

“And you won’t mind me leaving you? And you don’t 
D 2 


36 The Debt 

think it is a mad idea? And — and you’ll get on all right 
without me? ” 

“Sure! There’s life in th’ old man yet. But that 
hemmed, unmor’l, slab-sided, black swod of a nigger of 
yourn have got th’ leader’s horn under th’ yoke. Best see 
to it, Harry boy.” 

Young Ryan leaped lightly from the wagon, and hurried 
towards his own team. His step was springy, his whole 
being radiated the tremendous desire and gladness which 
obsessed him, and he whistled happily as he went. 

As for the old man, he climbed leisurely to the ground, 
and strolled up to the big red ox in the lead of his span. 
He looked at it thoughtfully, and there was no trace of 
the humorous cheerfulness with which he had addressed 
his son when he spoke. 

“Reckon you an’ me’s goin’ to be powerful lonesome, 
Robinson,” he said sadly. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE BUSTLE OF TOWN 

Possibly the very best place in the world for the student 
of types is a railway station ; preferably a big terminus. 
There will he find all grades of society mixed in one 
struggling whole, and the purse-proud plutocrat must skip 
every bit as nimbly as the labourer at the sudden “ By 
your leave ” of the porter with his truck of luggage. There 
will he see the contrast of experience and ignorance — the 
much-travelled man moving easily and leisurely through 
the crowd to his compartment, whilst the novices fret and 
worry despite the fact that they have a full ten minutes 
before the train leaves. Laughter and tears are there, as 
some dear friend is farewelled on a long journey; and 
modern human nature drops for a little while and in some 
slight degree the mask of careless indifference it habitually 
wears. 

Park Station — the Johannesburg terminus which is not 
a terminus at all — is neither very big nor very imposing. 
It is not even comparatively clean, and its two long plat- 
forms are subdivided in a determined attempt to render 
their inadequacy less obvious. But it is a station among 
stations so far as human nature is concerned. All colours 
are there, and all types. Natives laughing and chatting 
as they wait at the upper end of the station for the third- 
class carriages; Indians hurrying anxiously to take their 
places, perhaps an hour before the train is due ; happy 
youngsters on their way to the coast for the holidays; 
men going to the Old Country on long leave ; pale, worried 
women seeking health elsewhere, for Johannesburg levies 
a heavy toll on them ; financiers, Peruvian traders and 
hawkers, back-veld farmers, commercial travellers — a truly 
cosmopolitan gathering. 

Harry Ryan found it more than sufficiently distracting 

^7 


The Debt 


38 

when he alighted from the Cape train one evening in 
December. He had not written to warn Lensford of his 
decision, and he did not know a soul in the place. Worse, 
he had not even the remotest idea where to go or how 
to get there. He politely but firmly declined the services 
of a couple of porters, and stood back from the hurrying 
crowd of passengers with his bag grasped in his right 
hand, and a look of utter bewilderment on his face. But 
he had put his hand to the plough, and his was one of 
those natures which are slow to make a resolution — reluct- 
ant, even — but having once resolved, then may the very 
heavens fall before that resolution is abandoned. 

He was still wondering just what he should do when the 
rest of the passengers had disappeared, and it was then 
that a well-dressed, pleasant-faced man who had been 
strolling up and down the platform approached him. 

“Stranger? ” he asked, and smiled in a friendly way. 

Ryan regarded him suspiciously and nodded. 

“Thought so,” the other went on. “Now I know just 
how it feels to land in a strange place and wonder what 
in thunder you are going to do next. Been through the 
mill myself. Can I be of any service to you? My train 
doesn’t go for half-an-hour. ...” 

Not all dwellers in the wilds are fools. It may be that 
some of them develop a sixth sense which warns them in 
the hour of need ; or it may be merely that they become 
perforce observant, and note chance characteristics. The 
stranger had quite an open, honest face, and he met 
Ryan’s gaze squarely; and yet Ryan distrusted him. 

“No thanks,” he repliedly shortly. 

“Don’t think you will be troubling me. If you want a 
decent, quiet hotel I can take you to one in no time. One 
where they won’t do you because you are a stranger. 
You’ve only to say the word.” 

He glanced round him as he spoke and saw a rather 
shabbily dressed man with a slouch hat approaching. 
Without another word he turned and walked briskly 
towards the upper end of the platform. Ryan looked 
after him in some surprise, and then faced round as the 
man with the slouch hat addressed him. 

“Friend of yours? ” the newcomer queried briefly. 

“No.” 


The Bustle of Town 


39 

“Ah! thought so. Don’t get into conversation with 
stray people here, my young friend.” 

Ryan looked at him thoughtfully. 

“All right,” he said. “Go away.” 

The shabby man smiled a little. 

“Good,” he said. “You’re not so green as I thought. 
That man was what we call a ‘ stiff ’ here, and he’d have 
gone through you pretty thoroughly if he could have got 
you to one of his haunts down Fordsburg way. Notice 
how he cleared when he saw me? I’m a railway detective.” 

Ryan didn’t display any enthusiasm, for he had made 
up his mind to distrust Johannesburg very thoroughly. 

“ Are you ? ” he replied. “ I dare say the other man 
would have said he was a police inspector if you hadn’t 
disturbed him.” 

The shabby man seemed rather pleased than otherwise. 

“You’ll do,” he said approvingly. “And now, since 
it’s pretty obvious you don’t know what to do, come with 
me to that policeman at the level crossing. He knows me, 
and then I’ll tell you where to go.” 

It was quite a sound proposition, and Ryan felt grateful 
to the other for his kindly interest. But he was a man 
of few words. 

“All right,” he answered, and walked down the platform 
beside his conductor. 

Such was his welcome to Johannesburg, and in a way it 
was typical. The shark was a little more in evidence than 
he would have been at most places — a little quicker to 
mark down his prey ; but the friendly interest of the detec- 
tive was equally noticeable. 

He spent that night in a room kindly recommended to 
him by the policeman who guarded the level crossing at 
the station, to which he was conducted by the affable 
detective. The latter treated the whole incident as purely 
a matter of course, and seemed quite surprised when Ryan 
tried to thank him. 

“Oh, that's nothing,” he said. “I’m there to spot 
fellows trying to get at the lambs — that’s what I’m paid 
for. i\nd as for the rest, I was off duty as soon as the 
station cleared after the Cape train pulled out, and I live 
close by here. You’d probably have made a mess of things 
if left to yourself. So long.” 


40 


The Debt 


It was a long, weary night for Ryan, and he thought 
regretfully of the free, open life of the veld as he tossed 
and turned on the uncomfortable bed. The weather was 
very hot, and accustomed as he was to the open air, he 
found it unutterably oppressive in the little room. But he 
consoled himself with reflections of what the new life might 
mean to him — of the new experiences and emotions, the 
new sights and faces, the new worlds he was to investi- 
gate ; and so thinking, he fell into a restless sleep. 

He wakened at a very early hour, as was his habit. An 
hour which, by the way, was almost indecent for Johannes- 
burg, where the only lark which sees people in the streets 
before sunrise is the one which begins overnight. But 
there was a certain freshness and sweetness in the air 
— that indescribable scent of the dawn — and young 
Ryan hurried his clothes on anyhow and quietly stole 
outside. 

Arrived there he was in something of a quandary. He 
thought he might possibly find his way to the station again 
if necessary, but he had no particular desire to go there. 
Elsewhere Johannesburg was a sealed book to him, and 
he stood in the middle of the road — as is the habit of those 
who are accustomed to big spaces — and wondered vaguely 
where he should go. 

The few people stirring seemed to be moving in the 
same general direction, so he eventually followed their 
example, shrugging his shoulders as the futility of it all 
occurred to him, for this was the hour when he should 
have been seeing to the inspanning of his team. But after 
a few minutes’ walking he reached the lower end of the 
Market Square, and began to feel more in his element. 

Many ox-wagons were there, some of them up-to-date 
and brightly painted, and others again patched and 
repaired out of all recognition. Some of the teams were 
excellent, and others were unspeakable ; in some instances 
there were even donkeys or mules inspanned with a team 
of oxen. But the men with the wagons were all of a 
type familiar with him, and he began to feel at home. 

He moved among the wagons, and nodded as he noted 
they all carried produce of sorts, evidently for sale on 
the morning market. Bales of forage, bundles of lucerne, 
manna hay, mealies, potatoes — all the things which the 


The Bustle of Town 


41 


farmer struggles to grow when the fates are kind to him. 
One very dilapidated wagon had a load of pumpkins, and 
pumpkins fetch very little in Johannesburg. Yet the 
Dutchman who owned them had probably trekked in two 
or three days’ journey to dispose of them. Time was 
nothing to him. 

Ryan, in a blue serge suit which frankly did not attempt 
to fit him, strolled among the loads of produce and gazed 
with an appraising eye at the various teams. He spoke 
the Taal almost as well as his own language, so could 
understand all that was said by the white-bearded old 
patriarchs who seemed to have a monopoly of the lesser 
trade. One man was having some difficulty with a couple 
of young oxen, and Ryan interfered and soothed the 
fractious beasts easily. The Dutchman looked at him in 
some surprise, for the blue serge suit did not speak of the 
wilds to his untutored gaze. 

“Dag, 00m,” he said finally, by way of greeting, 
removing his pipe from his mouth to expectorate clumsily. 

“Dag,” Ryan responded, and went on easily in the 
Taal: “You inspan your oxen too soon — not so?” 

“Ja,” the Dutchman agreed. “But what would you, 
with times so bad as they are now. The little ones must 
have clothes to wear, and the crops are not as they used 
to be. In these days we must work like the Kaffirs, and 
our beasts are under the yoke when they should still be 
sucking. It is no white man’s country now.” 

Ryan nodded politely. He knew the back-veld farmer, 
whose rooted antipathy to work, and antiquated methods, 
render him a picturesque but hopeless failure in the modern 
rush and bustle. 

“Do you come often to Johannesburg? ” he asked. 

“Ja. It is two days’ trek to my little farm — all that is 
left of it. I bring in potatoes, or pumpkins, or mealies, 
and sometimes the prices are fair. But there is always 
the account at the store, and these days we must pay, or 
the verdomd lawyers are put on to us. Allamachtig ! It 
is work, work all the time, and jy kan nie klaar kom 
nie. ” ^ 

Ryan sympathised to a great extent, for the enervating 
influence of the veld was in his blood — the old motto of 
* Freely : — I can never get finished, 


42 The Debt 

the country — “ Wacht een beitje ” ^ — had grown upon him 
in spite of himself. 

“You speak the Taal well,” the Dutchman went on, 
“but you are English — not so? There are not many in 
Johannesburg who speak as you do.” 

“I am not of Johannesburg,” Ryan assured him. “This 
is the first time I have been here, and it is a big place.” 

“Ah, then you will have breakfast with me, eh? ” 

There is no one so hospitable as a Dutchman — to one 
who can speak his language. 

He produced some home-baked bread from the back of 
the wagon, and half a shoulder of mutton. 

“I am not a Taakhaar,” ^ he explained volubly. “Look 
round, and you will see some men who care not what they 
eat, but I am different. My vrouw, she was a school- 
mistress. Before the war I did not know what it meant 
to want anything. Did you fight for us? ” 

“No, I fought against you,” Ryan answered simply. “ I 
was not a burgher, you see.” 

“Ah well, what does it matter? It was a foolish busi- 
ness, but it is finished, and the land is ours again. Me, 
I was sent to Ceylon. It is a pretty place, but I do not 
wish to go there again — no ! Still, I did not mind so 
much. I speak English well, but there we all forgot it, 
and we could only understand the Taal.” 

He laughed at the recollection, for there are some even 
among the farming Dutch who bear no ill will for what is 
past and done with. 

“But what do you do in Johannesburg?” he went on, 
after breaking a loaf in half and seeing that Ryan had 
plenty to eat. 

“I have come to see a friend, and maybe to work.” 

“Work in Johannesburg? Man, but you must be mad. 
All houses round you, and no air to breathe ! ” 

“Still, I would see what it is like. It is well to know 
everything we can.” 

“For me, I wish to know nothing more. So long as 
the children have clothes to wear, why trouble about other 
things? It is the mortgage which makes me come to 
Johannesburg so often, for they will not wait these days.” 

He drew Ryan’s attention to a nondescript little wagon 
^ Wait a bit. 8 Back- veld farmer. 


The Bustle of Town 43 

which had just arrived — a vehicle which would not have 
been out of place in the old biblical pictures. The wheels 
were solid, wood, and the team consisted of a couple of 
young oxen to the disselboom, and four donkeys in front. 
One of these had a little foal running beside her. 

“ He is a person of no account,” the Dutchman went on, 
with a chuckle. “ Now mine is a good wagon, and my 
team is also good, even if some of them are too young. 
But even he is better than the townfolk. You see them 
at nine o’clock, and even then they are rubbing the sleep 
from their eyes. But the auctioneers are here, friend, and 
they will sell the stuff now. Dag.” 

He nodded in a friendly fashion, and did not wait for 
any thanks as he walked quickly away to follow the course 
of the sale and see what prices were being realised. Left 
to himself, Ryan pulled out his watch and found it was 
only half-past seven. He knew it would be useless to call 
for Lensford before nine o’clock, so amused himself by 
strolling to the upper square, where the loads of produce 
consigned by rail were being off-loaded from the railway 
lorries. Here all was bustle and activity, and modern 
methods were supreme. Steam lorries puffed up from the 
goods yards, most of them hauling two or three trailers 
behind them. Hundreds of bags of m.ealies and wheat 
were off-loaded without any delay, and stacked neatly on 
the square. Railway officials stood by to direct operations, 
and uniformed inspectors of the market department were 
always in evidence. There was no confusion, but no time 
was wasted. 

Ryan watched the scene, fascinated. Somehow this 
seemed to him a breath of the great world he was to 
investigate, and he was immensely struck by the orderly 
hurry of it all, and the size of the consignments so easily 
handled. He walked from end to end of the square, past 
the section devoted to vegetables, where the boarding- 
house keepers bid briskly against each other for sacks of 
cabbages and onion ; past the fruit market, where the 
produce of the Cape Colony, in neat wooden boxes, was 
being disposed of as quickly as possible; past the market 
buildings, and the splendid display of cut flowers for sale, 
and so back to the lower square where the ox-wagons were 
congregated and the stock sales were proceeding. 


44 


The Debt 


But he could not stay there. The bustle of the upper 
square was calling him, and he hurried back again to 
watch the growing stacks of grain, and the samplers busy 
with their long instruments so curiously like cheese-tasters. 
Natives jostled past him, bearing their burdens of goods 
purchased by small customers ; Greeks pushed him uncere- 
moniously aside as he paused a moment by the fruit 
market, for they have a virtual monopoly of the fruit trade 
in Johannesburg, and he was an interloper; Indians were 
grouped by the flower stalls, watching their opportunity 
to buy up whole consignments at a reduced figure; well- 
dressed men and women seeking to save a few shillings 
by doing their shopping at the wholesale place ; out-of- 
works waiting their opportunity to pick up discarded fruit 
— a few bruised oranges or some over-ripe bananas — any- 
thing by way of a meal ; farmers and clerks, white-bearded 
patriarchs and young boys, men and women of all ranks 
were gathered together in that cosmopolitan crowd, and 
... he was one of them. 

He did not heed the pushes he received on all sides, for 
where all but one are intent on doing something, the one 
is apt to be in the way. To him it was a kind of fore- 
taste of the life he was to lead, and he found it more than 
pleasing. He did not realise that it was the country come 
to town, and that therefore he was in sympathy with it. 

He walked out of the square and on to Rissik Street, 
and narrowly escaped being run down by a magnificent 
motor-car. The incongruity of it all did not occur to him 
— the wagon with solid wheels on the one hand, and the 
latest idea in motor-cars on the other; to him it was all 
part of the almost incomprehensible but altogether delight- 
ful whole — the wonderful existence which was now to be 
his. 

And then the big clock on the Post Office struck nine. 

It occurred to him at once that he should be in Lens- 
ford’s office, but at the same time he remembered that he 
had not even the haziest idea how to get there. He looked 
around helplessly, and noted that there was a policeman 
on point duty near by. But to get to that promise of 
assistance was the difficulty. The traffic in Johannesburg 
is not so very terrifying to those who are accustomed to it, 
but at nine o’clock jn the morning it is at its heaviest^ and 


The Bustle of Town 


45 

the policeman seemed surrounded by insurmountable 
dangers. For nearly five minutes Ryan watched the 
scene as though fascinated, and then, in a momentary 
lull, he made a rush, and accosted the uniformed regulator 
of the traffic. 

“Can you tell me — Universal Bank Buildings?” he 
gasped. 

The policeman pulled him gently out of the way as an 
electric car crawled to the terminus, and told him to keep 
his eyes open. 

“Universal Bank?” he went on. “Yes. First on your 
right, and second on your left. Don’t stand talking here, 
or you’ll be run over. Get on to the sidewalk, sonny.” 

He obligingly held up a couple of motor-cars as Ryan 
made his escape, and then thought no more about him. 

But Ryan was no nearer a solution to his difficulties. 
It was all very well to say first on the right, but he hadn’t 
the remotest notion in which direction to start. He noticed 
another policeman walking along the pavement at a little 
distance, and hurried up to him. 

“Universal Bank Buildings?” he asked, without 
preamble. 

The policeman obviously did not understand. 

With an instinct which did not deceive him, Ryan put 
the question in Dutch, and was more successful. 

“I am new here, so I do not know,” the other assured 
him, also speaking in the language of the country. “ But 
come with me, and we will find out.” 

He obligingly took charge of the wanderer, and walked 
off towards the Eloff Street crossing. Here he discovered 
a compatriot who was an old Johannesburger, and between 
them they managed to explain the position to Ryan. The 
latter thanked them and made another effort. 

This time he reached the business centre of the town, 
and knew that the building he sought must be one of three 
close by. After a little more trouble he found the right 
one, and the lift-boy proved sympathetic. 

“Who d’you want? ” he demanded. “Strauss and Van 
der Bloom ? Third floor. Which one of ’em ? Mr. Lens- 
ford? He ain’t here yet, I don’t believe. Ask at the 
general office — number sixty-three. Mind the step.” 

Ryan walked along the stone corridor till he came to 


The Debt 


46 

a door bearing" the required number. He felt strangely 
nervous now that he was on the very threshold of the life 
he desired, and a ridiculous longing to escape before it 
was too late assailed him. Possibly it was his instinct 
again asserting itself, but he summoned all his resolution 
and knocked on the door. 

There was no answer, and after a discreet interval he 
tried again. 

From within a boy’s voice told him to open the door, 
and the next moment he had crossed the threshold. A 
diminutive urchin stood behind the counter which barred 
ingress to the office proper. He was cleaning out some 
ink-pots, and seemed to be taking a whole-hearted delight 
in getting as much of the ink as possible on his person. 
He summed up the visitor in one swift, shrewd glance, and 
thereafter proceeded calmly with his labours. 

Ryan stood there patiently for more than a minute, with 
his hat held in his hand, waiting the pleasure of the 
autocrat with the ink-pots. 

“Weil?” the latter queried at last. 

“This — this is Strauss and Van der Bloom?” Ryan 
asked humbly. 

“Right you are.” 

The boy put down the last of the ink-pots, and regarded 
his incredibly dirty fingers with much satisfaction. 

“D’you want to buy anything?” he asked encourag- 
ingly, seeing that the stranger still waited. 

“I want to see Mr. Lensford.” 

A change was at once apparent in the demeanour of the 
office boy. All kinds of queer people asked for Mr. Lens- 
ford, and you could never be quite sure from their appear- 
ance just how he regarded them. Mr. Lensford could be 
very nasty if any of his friends mentioned the word 
“incivility.” 

“Mr. Lensford? ” he echoed, and then went on politely : 
“I don’t think he’s down yet, but he may be in any 
minute. Will you wait for him? ” 

“Please.” 

“There’s a chair there, and if you’ll sit down a bit I’ll 
tell you when he comes in.” 

Ryan sat down on the indicated chair, and felt thankful 
for the comparative obscurity afforded by the counter. On 


The Bustle of Town 47 

the other side two or three clerks were already busy with 
their books, and from an inner ofBce came the quick rattle 
and tinkle which told of at least a couple of typewriters 
going at full speed. Other clerks came in from time to 
time from the door on the left, and though Ryan was 
strange to the ordinary office routine he knew that this 
must be a big firm, and that Lensford was a man of some 
importance in it. 

For a quarter of an hour he sat there, and by that time 
he had almost entirely regained his composure. Accus- 
tomed as he was solely to the life of the veld, this bearding 
of the very self-possessed office boy in his own den had 
been something of an ordeal ; but left to himself he 
gradually recovered the dignity which usually character- 
ised him. It is a very real thing, this dignity of those 
who have lived long with nature. 

The door of the inner office opened and a young girl 
came out. She was clad simply in a white blouse and 
dark skirt, and her face was distinctly pleasant. Her hair 
was brown and inclined to curl, and her eyes matched it 
exactly. Her nose was small and straight, and her mouth 
was a little large. Her chin was rather weak, but the 
whole effect was quite pretty ; and Ryan regarded her 
surreptitiously and with much interest, for women were a 
sealed book to him. 

“Has Mr. Feinbaum been in yet, Joe?” she asked the 
office boy, and, being a woman, shot a quick glance at 
the stranger on the other side of the counter. 

The boy rose politely. 

“No, Miss Harris,” he said. 

“Tell me the moment you see him. There are some 
letters for him to sign.” 

She returned to the inner office without another glance 
at Ryan, and he felt vaguely sorry that she did not wait. 
To him a young and pretty girl, seen at close quarters, 
and with her hat off, was quite an event. He decided that 
she had a very nice voice. 

The office boy looked over his shoulder through the door 
on the left, and then hurried away. 

“There’s a gentleman waiting to see you, Mr. Lens- 
ford,” he called out. 

Ryan felt his heart beating in quite an unusual fashion. 


The Debt 


48 

Evidently Lensford had arrived, and his fate would soon 
be decided one way or another. 

“To see me — at this time?” he heard Lensford say. 
“Does he look as if I owe him anything, Joe?” 

“No, sir,” the boy replied, with a grin. “Looks as if 
he’s up from the country, sir.” 

“Indeed.” 

Lensford came into the general office, and Ryan rose 
awkwardly to his feet. 

Lensford had many faults, but at least he was a good 
friend, and there was nothing snobbish about him. 

“ By all that’s wonderful — Ryan ! ” he exclaimed. 

He raised a flap in the counter, and, coming round, 
shook hands warmly with the visitor. 

“By Jove,” he went on, “but I’m glad to see you. 
Didn’t expect you quite so soon as this, but the sooner 

the better. And how’s old Father , your father, you 

know? And Robinson, and the rest of them? Come into 
my office, old chap, and let’s hear all about everything. 
Joe — you young villain — I’m not in if anybody wants me.” 


CHAPTER V 


THE NEW WORLD 

“Well,” Lensford remarked, when he had seen Ryan 
seated in the most comfortable chair his office boasted — 
and it was a really comfortable chair, too, for he had 
luxurious tastes — “and what brings you here so soon? 
Don’t take that as a protest, by the way — I have a vivid 
recollection of the way you behave if you have a griev- 
ance ! But I really didn’t think you would manage it so 
soon. Let’s see, it’s just about a month since you dragged 
me from the depths and emptied me out, isn’t it? Doing 
some transport riding in this direction?” 

He paused expectantly, and Ryan shook his head. 

“No? Just a visit then,” Lensford went on, refusing 
to notice the very evident embarrassment of the other. 
“You do smoke, don’t you? There are some rather 
decent cigars here, if you care to try one. It’s a bit early 
in the day for a drink. There ! Just take a few whiffs 
at that, and you’ll feel at home in no time. Must be a 
bit of an ordeal coming from the pure air of the veld into 
this dusty hole.” 

Ryan sat on the edge of the arm-chair, and carefully 
lit his cigar. It was quite obvious that he was not accus- 
tomed to cigars, but he seemed to appreciate the flavour 
of the excellent Havanas Lensford indulged in, and he 
smoked silently for some minutes. 

Lensford busied himself at his desk, sorting out papers 
and making notes on a pad by his right hand. He knew 
that Ryan was ill at ease, and he thought it well not to 
hurry him in any way. 

“ How’s your father? ” he asked at last, with a view to 
leading his visitor on to familiar ground. “Fine, hale 
old man he is for over sixty — got the spirit of a two-year- 
old. He’ll miss you.” 

E 


49 


50 


The Debt 


Ryan roused himself. 

“Ay, that he will, Mr. Lensford,” he replied, “and 
that’s what’s been worrying me. He wouldn’t never 
admit it, but we’ve been on the road pretty well ever 
since I can remember. . . . But I had to come to see 
things for myself. I’ve always wanted and wanted to, 
but I managed to sort of pretend I didn’t. And then you 
came and told me all about the life here, and the big 
dinners, and the theatres, and the pretty women, and I 
just had to come. Father said he reckoned it was only 
natural.” 

“Why, of course it is,” Lensford agreed. “I’ll get 
you rigged out in an evening suit, and I’ll give you the 
time of your life. I guess you’ll have some amusing 
tales to tell the old man when you get back. How long 
can you give me? A fortnight?” 

Ryan put down his cigar on the leather arm of the 
chair. 

“You don’t understand, Mr. Lensford,” he said. “I’ve 
finished with the old life — given up transport riding for 
good. I’ve come to Johannesburg because I want to 
work here, and learn what town’s like, and be more of a 
man.” 

Lensford stood up and regarded the other with a smile 
of friendly amusement. 

“You want to be more of a man,” he said, “and . . . 
you come to Johannesburg ! Good Lord ! ” 

“Ay. It sounds silly, maybe, but there it is. What 
do I know about the way people behave, and the way they 
do things? I know all about how to drive a team of 
beasts, and that’s all. And yet all the time I know that 
I could do other things if I had the chance. I want to be 
more of a man — to be more like you.” 

Lensford sat down again, and thoughtfully blew a few 
smoke rings. There was nothing particularly manly about 
him, except for the fearless look of his rather small grey 
eyes. In stature he was less than the other by a full six 
inches, and he was very slightly made. His hands and feet 
were small, and his face colourless and cadaverous. His 
hair was almost straw-coloured, and he had no moustache. 

“Well,” he said finally, “if I’m your idea of a man, 
all I can say is that you get funny notions into that head 


The New World 


51 

of yours. No ! — not a word. Of course I gather what 
you really mean. You want to be more of a man of the 
world. That’s it, isn’t it? You want to be able to smoke 
and drink more than’s good for you, and have a good 
time with the girls, and be chucked out of the Empire, 
perhaps. Well, dear old chap, you’re starting too late in 
life. If you’re going to be a prot^g^ of mine, you must 
do these things gracefully, and a man of your age could 
never manage it. Not that it matters in Johannesburg. 
In England you may be disgraceful, but you mustn’t be 
ungraceful. Here you may be as blatant as you like. 
But as a protege of mine, you understand . . . ? And 
understand this, also : it’s far better to be able to drive 
a team of oxen really well, than to be able to do lots of 
other things just a little. It’s not often I speak this way, 
but you’re not meant for Johannesburg, Ryan. You’re 
naturally quiet and decent and honest, and those are not 
the qualities to get you on here.” 

“But I’m stopping,” Ryan replied briefly. 

“Of course you are. I never for one moment thought 
my words would influence you in any way, but it made 
me feel noble to warn you. You’re not the man to take 
another’s word for it — you want to see for yourself. 
Well, so you shall; only don’t blame me afterwards.” 

“If I don’t like it, I can always go back.” 

“That’s far more sensible. If it’s only in the nature 
of an experiment it won’t be so bad. You can stay as 
my guest as long as ever you like, and ” 

“No, Mr. Lensford. You wouldn’t do that, would you? 
What I want is to get some work. I thought perhaps 
you could help me, for of course I don’t know anybody 
here.” 

“Have it your own way.” Lensford seemed rather 
pleased than otherwise. “Nothing like doing things off 
your own bat. But you’ve got to look on me as your 
chief friend here — your guide, philosopher and friend, as 
the dear old poet puts it. I owe you that, at least, for 
dragging me out of the whatsername river, so you mustn’t 
kick.” 

Ryan smiled gratefully. 

“That’s just what I want,” he said. “I want you to 
tell me things, and to say when I go wrong, and teach 


The Debt 


52 

me the little things you know — how I ought to behave, 
and where I make mistakes.” 

“That’s the way to learn,” Lensford replied. “To 
begin at once — always remove the band from a cigar 
before lighting it.” 

Ryan gravely rectified the omission, and Lensford 
proceeded — 

“Now, what can you do? ” 

“Drive oxen,” Ryan answered, with simple directness. 

“Yes, but what else? That’s not much good here.” 

“Nothing else,” Ryan said sadly. “That’s why I’m 
here.” 

“Um. We’ll have to get you fixed up somehow. In 
the ordinary course of events it doesn’t matter a hang 
what you can do here. Heaps of the men in fat billets 
have about as much brain as an octopus. It’s all influ- 
ence. But you have to bluff, and put on a certain amount 
of side. That’s where you fail. And, moreover, you have 
to have a certain amount of intelligence to fill the sub- 
ordinate positions, and we couldn’t make you a boss man 
right away. Not that I mean you haven’t intelligence, 
but rather the requisite knowledge. The clerk’s work is 
judged by results, you see — concrete and tangible results. 
The boss man can always fall back on his underlings.” 

“I’m very strong,” Ryan remarked, looking up wist- 
fully. 

“ I should be the last to contradict you. As I said 
before, I have a vivid recollecfion of the time when I was 
in your clutches. But 1 don’t want to put you on any 
manual labour. ... By Jove ! I think I have it. You 
don’t mind starting pretty low down?” 

“Not a bit.” 

“Well, our storeman has been agitating for an assistant 
for many months. He doesn’t really want one, but it 
makes the firm think he does a lot of work. I could get 
you in there, and probably they’d pay twenty pounds a 
month if I put it to them strongly. Now don’t get 
excited ! Twenty is very little in Johannesburg, I assure 
you; though it’s pretty good pay for an assistant store- 
man.” 

Ryan’s eyes were shining with anticipation, and the 
really excellent Havana cigar fell unnoticed to the ground. 


The New World 


53 


“If you think I could do the work?” he said. 

“Do it? It’s the easiest thing in the world. But per- 
haps I’d better explain the position first. For myself, I 
am one of the bluffers. Managed to secure a few good 
agencies, entirely through influence, and joined this firm 
to let them do the work. D’you understand? It’s like 
this. I am the only man out here to sell somebody’s 
weldless steel tubing, and another big firm’s centrifugal 
pumps, and another’s rails, and another’s belting, and as 
these things are what is called a good line, people must 
have ’em. But by myself it was too much like hard work, 
and it was a little too big for me, too. So I joined this 
firm as a sort of subsidiary partner, retaining all control 
over my own agencies, and — but what on earth’s the good 
of all this to you? What I am trying to show you, Ryan, 
is that my position is not due to myself in any way, but 
that, such as it is, it brings me in quite a nice lot of 
money, and ... I spend much more. There is a popular 
idea here that I have private means.” He laughed dryly. 
“Well, I rather encourage it than otherwise — it may be 
useful. So you see I am no sort of man to admire or 
imitate. Perhaps you may pick up a few wrinkles on 
manners from me — I rather pride myself on my manners. 
Then there is the store where we have all our supplies. 
Two big buildings down by the railway, and a collection 
of stuff there enough to drive you into an early grave 
without the least difficulty. Don’t try to learn too much, 
but let the other men do the work. It’s the man who 
talks who gets the credit, remember, not the man who 
works. Rush about when anybody’s looking, and pant 
a little, and they’ll think the world of you. Also put in 
a little overtime at night. You can loaf in the daytime 
to make up for it. I rather fancy they shut up the store 
at five, though — or a little later. For the rest, our present 
storeman, a Cockney named Jenkins, who is up to all the 
wrinkles of appearing busy, but is quite a cheery and 
affable reprobate, will tell you what to do. We run our 
own cartage, and you might be especially useful in seeing 
that the forage and so forth is up to the mark. We’ll 
have you a partner in Strauss and Van der Bloom before 
you know where you are. Will it do?” 

“Do! Why, Mr. Lensford, it couldn’t be better. It’s 


The Debt 


54 

the very sort of job I want, for I’ve seen stores in most 
places, and know how they go about the work. Though, 
of course, this will be rather different.” 

Lensford smiled again. 

“Very,” he assented. “But I’ll see Strauss this morn- 
ing, and introduce you. He’s rather a dear old chap — 
very fussy and important, but as soft-hearted as if he had 
never heard of Johannesburg. Van der Bloom is some- 
thing of a hard case, but we’ll dodge him. And what 
else?” 

Ryan pondered for a few moments, and then, suddenly 
becoming aware of the loss of his cigar, bent down and 
picked up the relic, carefully wiping it on the sleeve of 
his coat. 

“Do you think I could meet some of the nice people? ” 
he asked at last. 

“Nice people? Well, it depends what you mean by 
nice. To my mind, the nicest people, as a class, here are 
the bank clerks. Most of them know how to behave, and 
none of them has enough money to annoy you. Indeed, 
most of the poor devils are so exercised as to how to come 
out on the microscopic salaries they draw, that money is 
the last thing in the world they want to talk about. But 
they are a bit exclusive. For the rest of society here, 
money is the only necessary passport; but as the bank 
clerks don’t consider this, they can afford to be exclusive.” 

Ryan seemed to think that this was quite as it should be. 

“Perhaps I could meet some of the others?” he 
suggested. 

“Certainly you can. Only you’ll have to bluff a bit. 
Pretend that you are only doing this as a sort of bet, and 
that your father has quite a bit of money. They’ll be 
awfully keen on you if they think they may possibly make 
a bit out of you. Remember what I told you when we 
first met — we are a commercial people purely and simply 
here, and we are graded according to the amount we 
make, or pretend to make. Don’t forget that if you can 
only pretend enough, you’ll pass muster with the best. 
There are several men here with all sorts of Orders of 
Court and writs out against them, and . . . their wives 
dress astonishingly well. By the way, it is women you 
wish to njeet most of all, isn’t it? ” 


The New World 


55 

“Yes.” Ryan stood up, and again the fire of anticipa- 
tion shone in his eyes. “Mr. Lensford, I’ve hardly ever 
spoken to a woman, and what I said about knowing all 
about them was just a lie. I felt all sort of ashamed to 
admit that I hadn’t hardly ever spoken to one, you see. 
I suppose other men would feel the same, wouldn’t they? 
And I want to do so tremendously. To sit by them and 
talk just as if I’d been used to them all my life. To laugh 
with them, and hold their hands. To flirt with them — 

yes, to put my arm round ” 

“ Steady, dear man ! ” Lensford was obviously amused, 
but at the same time he seemed to understand the other 
man. “You mustn’t say things like that,” he went on, 
“though you may do them as much as you like. I’m 
afraid you’re by way of being a bit of a gay dog, you 
know. But women are a dashed expensive hobby in 
Johannesburg, I assure you. Without wishing to be in- 
discreet, I would remind you that they love to dress well, 
and dress costs the very dickens of a lot. Also they like 
to be taken about. The moral tone here may not be 
high from the religious point of view, but, financially 
speaking, it is positively lofty. But I’ll give you a few 
words of advice. Remember, Ryan, the people of Johan- 
nesburg are for the most part either Dutch or Jewish, and 
with both of these races the man is supposed to be the 
master rather than the gallant cavalier. Therefore, dear 
man, if you wish to have a good time with the girls, do 
not be too polite. Above all, do not be humble. That is 
regarded as a confession of inferiority. Swagger and 
bluster a little. Do not sue for favours — take them.” 

Ryan was looking at him with his mouth open. In his 
own mind he had always placed women on a pedestal, and 
his desire to know more of them was purely in the 
abstract. 

“But,” he almost gasped — “but — you don’t treat them 
that way, Mr. Lensford?” 

“ I ? My dear man, I am quite a failure with women, 
so you must not think of what I do, but what I say. 
Profit by my experience, and take what the gods offer 
you.” 

“I think you are quite wrong,” Ryan maintained dog- 
gedly. “I’ve read lots of books, and the women in them 


The Debt 


56 

were not that kind at all. They were brave and patient, 
and they forgave the men all sorts of things, and nursed 
them when they were ill, and saved them from disgrace, 
and helped them when things went wrong, and were good 
and beautiful, and the hero wouldn’t have dreamed of 

being rude to them, and ” 

Lensford held up his hand. 

“You’ve never travelled to England on the mail-boat, 
have you, Ryan? ” he asked. “We won’t discuss it any 
further, Ryan, but you must remember Johannesburg is 
not a book — it is the real thing, and very much up-to-date. 
And now I’ll see if dear old Strauss is disengaged. By the 
way, though, we’d better fix up where you are to stay 
first. You don’t know anybody here, do you? There are 
plenty of boarding-houses, but I don’t know much about 
them — always stay at an hotel, or the club, myself, but 
it would be too expensive for you. Let me see. ... I 
rather fancy the mother of one of our typists keeps a 
place.” 

He rang the bell on his desk twice, and the office-boy 
put in a prompt appearance. 

“Ask Miss Harris to come here a moment, Joe,” he said. 

Ryan sat bolt upright, with a sudden thrill of apprehen- 
sion. He had heard the pretty girl in the general office 
alluded to as Miss Harris, and the thought of seeing her 
face to face, and perhaps even talking to her, was almost 
too much for him. He noticed, with a sort of wondering 
admiration and envy, that Lensford did not seem in the 
least perturbed at the prospect of the interview. 

In a very few moments there was a tap at the door, and 
Lensford called out, “Come in.” Ryan felt himself 
colouring furiously as the door opened, and he proceeded 
to devote his entire attention to his cigar. 

“Did you want me, Mr. Lensford? ” the girl asked. 

“Yes. Doesn’t your mother take in a few — er — paying 
guests. Miss Harris?” 

“We have a few boarders,” she answered, with a rather 
unusual sense of the fitness of things. 

“Ah. Do you know if there are any vacancies at 
the moment? A friend of mine has come up from the 
country, and will be staying in Johannesburg indefinitely. 


The New World 


57 

By the way, Ryan, let me introduce you. This is Miss 
Harris.” 

Ryan rose awkwardly, and held out his hand. 

“Pleased to meet you, miss,” he said, and blushed 
harder than ever. 

She smiled at him with the most perfect self-possession. 

“How do you do?” she said conversationally. 

“Oh, pretty well, thank you,” he replied, evidently 
taking the phrase quite seriously. “ Bit stuffy like, owing 
to me not being used to town yet, and the dust being 
rather bad to-day; but I’m always well, if it comes to that. 
I hope you are well, miss.” 

Lensford coughed, and the girl suppressed a giggle with 
some difficulty. She was rather inclined to giggle. 

“About that vacancy?” Lensford put in. 

“There is a room,” she replied, “and we should be 
only too glad to have Mr. Ryan if he cares to come.” 

“Good. You go home to lunch, don’t you? Well, I 
should be much obliged if you would take Mr. Ryan with 
you, and show him the house. He is quite new to 
Johannesburg, and hasn’t the faintest idea how to get 
anywhere. We’ll take that 5s settled, then. Wait for 
us at one o’clock, will you? If we’re a bit late you need 
not hurry back. That’s all just now, thank you.” 

The girl walked to the door and opened it. As she 
passed from the room she shot a quick glance at Ryan, 
and smiled reassuringly. When she had gone he breathed 
heavily, as though he had just come through a terrifying 
ordeal. 

“Well, that’s settled,” Lensford remarked casually. “I 
don’t know anything about the place, but Miss Harris is 
a decent, empty-headed little thing. I believe her mother 
is rather a terror, but you’re big enough to look after 
yourself. And now for Strauss. Better throw away the 
fragments of that cigar.” 

He passed before Ryan and through an inner door 
which opened into the general office. As they entered 
a big, heavily-built man, with curly black hair and a 
bushy moustache, was talking angrily to one of the juniors. 
He stopped abruptly when he saw Lensford, and 
smiled. 


The Debt 


58 

“Hulloa, Lensford,” he said. “What time ’d you get 
to bed last night? Saw you at the Empire.” 

Lensford nodded in reply, but did not answer the query. 

When they had passed into the passage outside the 
office, he turned to Ryan and looked him up and down 
approvingly. 

“If I were as big as you are,” he said, “nothing in the 
world would give me greater pleasure than to smite that 
utter bounder across the face. As it is, I can only ignore 
him, and that is almost worse than useless.” 

“But who is he?” Ryan asked, somewhat surprised. 

“He rejoices in the name of Feinbaum, and he is a 
junior partner in the firm. Looks after all the outside 
interests, and the boys, and special construction works, 
and so forth. If ever you have any trouble with him, 
Ryan, don’t wait for him to let out at you first. He’s a 
poisonous beggar, and a bully. Also he hates me like the 
very deuce, and that’s why he takes a delight in saying 
things like he did just now before the staff. He knows 
perfectly well that I hate my private life to have anything 
to do with my business one. Generally speaking they are 
one and the same thing in* Johannesburg, but I try to be 
an exception. He’ll make things as hot as possible for 
you when he knows I’ve got you in; but, after all, he’s 
a little afraid of me, and won’t dare to go too far.” 

He stopped before a door on which was painted, in 
large black letters — 

J. O. STRAUSS 
Private. 

“The old chap thinks he’s fearfully busy most times,” 
he went on casually, and knocked. 

Without waiting for a reply, he turned the handle of the 
door and entered. It was quite a sumptuously furnished 
office, with a heavy carpet, several comfortable chairs, rows 
of books in ornamental cases, some pictures, and the very 
latest idea in folding desks. 

Seated before this last imposing piece of furniture was 


The New World 


59 

a rather rotund gentleman of foreign aspect. He was 
very nearly bald, what little hair he had being quite white, 
and carefully brushed to cover as much of the head as 
possible. He wore gold-rimmed pince-nez, and had a 
habit of looking over these when he spoke. 

“Ah — ‘Lensford,” he said pleasantly. “I was rather 
wanting to see you. It appears that we sent the wrong 
size of tubing to the Bloemhuis Mine, and there is likely to 
be some trouble about it. Most unfortunate. Also — but 
you have some one with you? ” 

“Yes. I told you about the man who dragged me out 
of the river when I went to Vansrust, didn’t I? This is 
the modest hero.” 

Mr. Strauss rose courteously, for he was quite a nice 
old gentleman. 

“It was very well done, sir,” he said. “Very well 
done.” 

He shook hands solemnly, and Lensford went on — 

“ He’s come to Johannesburg, and is thinking of work- 
ing here. It occurred to me that Jenkins has more work 
than he can comfortably manage at the store, and that it’s 
quite time he had an assistant. You were saying some- 
thing about some wrong tubes being sent only just now, 
weren’t you? A firm like this can’t afford to let that 
happen — we have too good a record for accuracy. If you 
wouldn’t mind giving him a trial, I think Ryan is the 
very man for the place. Strong as a horse, understands 
all about seeing things loaded, very accurate, speaks lots 
of native languages, and doesn’t mind starting at twenty.” 

He paused suggestively, and Strauss looked at Ryan’s 
huge bulk with renewed Interest. 

“Why, if you think so, Lensford,” he said. “It is cer- 
tainly unfortunate about those pipes. Perhaps I had better 
go out to the Bloemhuis myself and see the manager. 
They mustn’t think we are careless. By all means have 
an assistant. Perhaps you would see to it for me, as I’m 
very busy to-day. A heavy mail, you understand. I hope 
you will find the work congenial, Ryan, and will prove — 
er — a worthy — worthy — that is, will not give Mr. Lensford 
any cause to regret having spoken for you.” 

He nodded affably again, and turned to his papers. 


6o 


The Debt 


Lensford gently propelled Ryan to the door, and, once 
outside, laughed quietly. 

“We arrived at the right moment. I’ll ring up Dickson 
at the Bloemhuis, and ask him what the deuce he means 
b}' making a fuss; but it helped with you. I’ll start you 
to-morrow. And now come out and see a little Johannes- 
burg.” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE HOUSE OF HARRIS 

Mrs. Harris stalked stormily into the kitchen, and the 
native boy engaged in cleaning a saucepan of large dimen- 
sions and considerable age looked up apprehensively and 
prepared to dodge. Not that he was conscious of any 
particular misdemeanour, but it was as well to be on the 
safe side. Mrs. Harris had a way of picking up the first 
suitable or unsuitable weapon of offence she saw, when 
all things were not as they should be, and any explana- 
tions could wait till afterwards. As often as not there 
was no occasion for explanations, for she was one of those 
women who seek to palliate their own offences by bullying 
others. If she mislaid a button-hook, or smashed a glass, 
she immediately went in search of some one on whom she 
could wreak a swift and summary vengeance. If the boys 
were out of the way her own daughters were usually avail- 
able, and they at least could not leave by way of indicating 
their disapproval. On the whole she preferred bullying 
her daughters. 

She belonged to a class very indicative of Johannesburg. 
There the husband who is making money will always live 
up to his means^ — or a little beyond them. If his shop is a 
little bigger than the average he is regarded as a man of 
wealth, and his society is much sought. If his salary is a 
good one — and everybody knows just what everybody else 
is drawing — he must perforce live better than those who 
are not so fortunate as he is. Those who desire to see 
their names in the papers must not grudge a little expense, 
and there are very few in Johannesburg who do not desire 
to see their names in the papers. The others are the 
utterly unimportant, or the notable exceptions. But in 
Johannesburg men do not generally live to a great age. 
There comes a time when pneumonia steps in and claims 

6i 


62 


The Debt 


its own, or the over-taxed heart yields to the unwonted 
conditions of life at an elevation of 6,000 feet above sea 
level. Very often death is supposed to be due to an 
accident, and — there are no coroners’ inquests to dread. 
But when that time comes the widow is generally left 
unprovided for, and the usual course she adopts is to 
rent a big house and take in a few paying guests. Almost 
every second house in Johannesburg takes in one or more 
paying guests, and the name of its widows who tell of 
the good days that were, is legion. 

Mrs. Harris was one of these. She had originally been 
married to an official under the Boer government — a placid, 
kindly man who was the father of her two eldest daughters. 
He died when they were respectively nine and twelve 
years old, and the widow was left without means of any 
sort. She naturally considered that she had a grievance 
against the world at large, so proceeded, in the orthodox 
manner, to endeavour to become housekeeper to some 
bachelor with means. Or to a widower, so far as that 
went — it mattered not so long as there was no visible bar 
to possible advantages. She knew that her social position 
would be hardly affected at all by such a step, for the 
women who were once of importance in Johannesburg, and 
who don’t keep boarding-houses or tea-shops, are all 
housekeepers. But fate intervened in the shape of Harris, 
a small, meek man whose young wife had died, leaving 
him with one daughter. The widow had very little diffi- 
culty with him, and in due course became Mrs. Harris, 
and the stepmother of a girl of eight. 

Mr. Harris apparently did not enjoy his second essay 
into matrimonial bliss. He stood it for a couple of years, 
gradually staying away from the house more and more, 
and falling into evil ways. Then he packed his own 
daughter off to England to school, and — vanished ! Africa 
is a big country, and it is largely peopled with vanished 
husbands. 

Mrs. Harris did not pine away and die. The house was 
settled upon her, so she merely stated to her friends just 
what would happen if she ever managed to catch the truant 
Mr. Harris, and proceeded to advertise for paying guests. 
As for Harris himself, he sent money from various odd 
corners of the country to support his daughter at school 


The House of Harris 


63 

in England till she was sixteen, when he wrote his inten- 
tion of discontinuing supplies, and advised her to return 
to her stepmother. She accordingly came back to the 
land of her birth, and was welcomed without any embar- 
rassing display of enthusiasm by her stepmother and 
sisters. They had all taken the name of Harris, and after 
all the house was bought by the man originally, so they 
could hardly refuse to take her in. 

She had been out some six months when Ryan came to 
Johannesburg, and had studied at a commercial school 
till she was an efficient shorthand writer and typist. She 
was now trying to obtain a situation. She was darker 
than either of the other girls, and apparently took after 
her dead mother in that her face was distinctly a strong 
one. The eldest girl, Ethel, was very tall and very fair, 
and owing to some more or less imaginary weakness of 
constitution was allowed to stay at home instead of 
working. 

Mrs. Harris, having scorched a linen dress she had been 
ironing, was about to vent her very natural indignation on 
the apprehensive Kaffir menial, when she heard the front 
door open and shut. Her boarders did not come home to 
lunch, so she -knew at once that it was her daughter 
Maggie, who worked with Strauss and Van der Bloom. 
She could not be expected to know that Maggie had 
brought Ryan with her. 

Ryan, standing bashful and ill at ease in the hall, 
suddenly heard a voice boom from the direction of the 
kitchen, and his heart turned to water. He knew it was 
a woman’s voice, but he had no idea any woman could 
shout like that. 

“What d’you mean by banging the door like that, you 
good-for-nothing little imp? ’’ the voice demanded in most 
strident tones. “Just wait a minute, my lady, till I get at 
you. Putting on airs because you earn a few pounds a 
month, and thinking you may do as you like in the house. 
Been running after some of your boys again, I suppose, 
so think you are grown up, do you? I’ll show you ” 

What else she would have said is a matter for con- 
jecture. In the usual course Maggie would not have 
minded particularly, for she was accustomed to such out- 
bursts. But she saw Ryan’s face of almost uncompre- 


64 The Debt 

bending horror, and a wave of shame passed over her. 
After all, she was nineteen, and it was so utterly unfair 
and undignified. 

“Mother,” she called out sharply, “I’ve brought a 
gentleman with me.” 

Mrs. Harris — doubtless registering a resolution to wreak 
a bitter vengeance on Maggie for her own unfortunate 
lapse — appeared immediately. To do her justice, she 
looked rather ashamed of herself. Even the vulgarest 
women do not like to display their vulgarity to strangers 
— it is reserved for the home circle. 

“I’ve had such an annoying morning,” she said volubly, 
as she came along the passage, “and my head is simply 
splitting. When you banged the door ” 

“/ shut the door,” Ryan interrupted steadily. He had 
hardly said a word to Maggie on the way from town, but 
he did not feel any shyness with a woman who could 
shout at her own daughter. His shyness was only that 
of admiration. 

Mrs. Harris drew in her breath sharply, and her face 
became redder than ever. 

“I don’t think you had any call to go on as you did,” 
Ryan proceeded doggedly. It was an ill-advised enough 
remark in all conscience, but he was unversed in the ways 
of polite society — perhaps did not even know that Mrs. 
Harris moved in quite a good social orbit — and his own 
instinctive appreciation of right and wrong made him 
eagerly take up the cudgels on behalf of beauty in distress. 

Mrs. Harris did not speak for a few moments. She 
looked at Ryan, and he met her gaze steadily. Possibly 
she realised the futility of trying to convince such a man 
that he was in the wrong, and in any case the small 
room at the back had been empty for two months. She 
laughed harshly. 

“This is Mr. Ryan, mother,” Maggie put in hastily, 
with a view to averting the storm. 

“Ah! How d’you do, Mr. Ryan? Evidently Maggie 
has made quite a conquest, hey? You mustn’t be annoyed 
with me, though, for it was only my fun. I often call 
out like that just for fun, don’t I, Maggie? ” 

“Yes,” the girl assented without enthusiasm. 

“But I bear no ill will to you for not understanding,” 


The House of Harris 65 

she went on. “If I’d known you were there, of course I 
shouldn’t have had my little joke.” 

Which was so obviously true that it even failed to 
impress Ryan. Maggie came to the rescue again, speak- 
ing nervously and hurriedly, for she knew only too well 
that the storm was still on the immediate horizon, and 
that even if it failed to burst then, there was a bad time 
in store for her later on. 

“Mr. Ryan is staying in Johannesburg,” she said. “He 
is just up from the Colony, and is a friend of Mr. Lens- 
ford’s at the office. Mr. Lensford asked me to ask you 
if you could put him up here, because — because he is not 
used to living in towns, and he doesn’t want to go to 
an hotel.” 

“Let me see,” — Mrs. Harris apparently pondered deeply 
as to the accommodation at her disposal — “ there is the 
big double room — no, that’s taken. Yes, you could have 
an outside room. Would you mind an outside room? ” 

Truth to tell, Ryan had been much exercised in his own 
mind as to whether he should stay at all in a house ruled 
over by a woman who was so unlike what he imagined 
women ought to be. On the other hand, he felt a curious, 
half-formed desire to stay and befriend Maggie. But the 
mother was so very disturbing. It was the outside room 
that decided him, for it savoured less of confinement. 

“I’d like it,” he said. “P’raps I may go there now?” 

The elder woman escorted him towards the yard, and 
Maggie hastened into the bedroom she shared with her 
two sisters. 

Ethel was standing close to the door, frankly listening. 

“You’ll catch it later on,” she said, by way of greeting. 
“Who is he? And fancy him standing up to mother like 
that.” 

Maggie pulled off her hat anyhow and threw it on 
the bed. 

“He’s just arrived from heaven-knows-where,” she said, 
“and he’s got the loveliest eyes you ever saw. But 
simple ! You know I come home by the express car, and 
hop off as it goes round the corner? Well, it never 
occurred to me to think any one couldn’t do that, for the 
car goes so very slowly. But Mr. Ryan blundered off 
anyhow and nearly fell down. I did laugh.” 

F 


66 


The Debt 


“ Is he up for a holiday, and has he any money ? ” Ethel 
asked. She was a woman who did not believe in wasting 
her opportunities. 

“I believe he’s going to work for our firm,” Maggie 
replied. “I heard Mr. Lensford saying something about 
it; though what in goodness he could do I can’t imagine.” 

The door opened again gently, and the youngest 
daughter came into the room. 

“ Trouble in the kitchen ! ” she observed casually, “ so 
I came in very quietly. It absolutely gives me the creeps 
to hear stepmother shouting. Also I’m afraid I’m in for 
a row because I didn’t polish the silver in the drawing- 
room before I went out. I forgot all about its being 
Saturday, but of course that’s no excuse.” 

Ethel turned and regarded her stepsister with a 
malicious smile. 

“Mother’s been waiting for you,” she said. “She says 
she’s going to send you to your room, and make you stay 
there all the afternoon.” 

“Oh, Frances — I’m so sorry,” Maggie put in sym- 
pathetically. Hers was a kindly nature. 

Frances shrugged her shoulders. 

“Isn’t it too utterly ridiculous — and humiliating?” she 
said. “It’s not as if I was a child — I’m nearly seventeen. 
But what on earth can I do? Last time she sent me I 
flatly refused, and she boxed my ears.” She coloured 
furiously at the recollection of it. “And I can’t run away, 
for I haven’t the faintest idea where to go.” 

“It’s your own fault,” Ethel assured her. “Mother 
says she means to keep you young ” 

“ So treats me as a baby ! Why, no decent woman 
would behave to a girl of six like she does to me. It’s 
all very well to say a girl should not grow up too soon, 
but it is absurd to expect her to remain a baby, and then 
suddenly become a woman at a moment’s notice.” 

“But you are so obstinate,” Ethel went on. “If only 
you’d say you’re sorry when mother goes for you, and 
cry a little ” 

“Good gracious ! Cry — at my age? ” 

“Why not? I’m twenty-two, and I always cry when 
mother is cross. It saves such a lot of trouble.” 

“Oh, you cry for the least thing,” Maggie said rudely. 


The House of Harris 67 

Her own nature was by no means a strong one, but her 
intentions were good enough. With some one to help 
her, she would very possibly have been altogether a nice 
girl. As it was, she admired the fearless, honest char- 
acter of Frances immensely, and had been trying to model 
her own thereon ever since the arrival of her stepsister. 
In theory she succeeded admirably, but in practice — in 
emergencies — she still found it so much easier and more 
expedient to take the line of least resistance that she could 
never be sure of herself. 

“But I can't cry — at least not for that sort of thing,” 
Frances said almost apologetically, turning to Maggie. 
“Afterwards — when nobody can see me — I feel that I 
must cry like anything, but that’s only because I feel it 
is all so beastly insulting.” 

“It was a mistake to send you to school in England,” 
Ethel remarked very coldly. “You have come back with 
all kinds of ridiculous notions in your head, and you’re 
too utterly conceited and proud for anything. You hardly 
speak to some of the men here.” 

“Why should I? One minute I’m treated like a baby, 
and the next I’m in trouble because I won’t be grown up, 
and frivol with impossible people. I love speaking to 
decent men, but some of the ones who come here ! ” 

“You are always rude to Mr. Feinbaum, and I’m 
sure ” 

“Mr. Feinbaum? Good gracious, why, he’s an utter 
pig. Look when he came to dinner last week. Tilted 
his chair back, stuck one hand in the armhole of his 
waistcoat, with all the fingers spread out, and — picked his 
teeth ! I suppose it’s his idea of showing how perfectly 
at home he is, but I think he is a loathsome toad.” 

Maggie coughed to draw Frances’ attention, and then 
shook her head. Ethel cherished designs with regard to 
Mr. Feinbaum, and it sometimes appeared that she had 
every ground for so doing. He had been a great friend 
of the departed Mr. Harris — indeed, it was whispered that 
he had quite a lot to do with the trouble which eventually 
led to the departure — and he still kept up a sort of desul- 
tory friendship with the family. When he found time 
hanging a little heavily on his hands, and no other woman 
happened to be available — for he was a great man with 
F 2 


68 


The Debt 


the ladies — he would even take Ethel out. These expedi- 
tions were a source of infinite satisfaction to both Ethel 
and her mother, and when one of the boarders, who 
possibly had a weakness for Ethel himself, suggested to 
Mrs. Harris that Feinbaum was not the sort of man to be 
allowed to take a young girl about, he was ignominiously 
expelled from the house. It is always sufficiently annoying 
to have the obvious pointed out, but it is more than 
usually exasperating when we already find some difficulty 
in shutting our eyes to it. 

Ethel laughed shrilly, and her voice rose in a manner 
which recalled that of her mother. 

“What do you know about how a gentleman behaves? ” 
she demanded. “ Let me tell you that Mr. Feinbaum is 
the most perfect gentleman I know.” 

“Then it’s jolly hard luck on you,” Frances retorted. 

“You’re jealous — that’s what it is,” Ethel said, with a 
fine sense of repartee. 

“Jealous? ” 

“Yes. You haven’t anybody to take you out — see ! ” 

Frances laughed cheerily. After all, the insinuation was 
too utterly paltry and vulgar to be noticed at all. In a 
way she always felt sorry for Ethel, whom she regarded 
as being very weak and morbid. Possibly Ethel also 
felt sorry for her. Most of us feel sorry, in a way, for 
the people who are not like us ; and the weak have every 
bit as much right to be sorry for the strong as vice 
versa. 

“Why don’t you get friendly with Mr. Edwards?” 
Ethel went on, possibly feeling magnanimous because she 
thought she had effectually silenced the other. “ He is 
always talking and joking with you, and you simply snub 
him.” 

Frances was about to answer with some heat, for she 
had very pronounced ideas on the subject of young men 
who think it a jest to make dubious jokes when ladies 
are present — and the jokes of Mr. Edwards were more 
than usually dubious. But further discussion was stopped 
by the voice of Mrs. Harris, which came from the direction 
of the dining-room. It was quite a pleasant, friendly 
voice, so the girls knew instinctively that Mr. Ryan 
was near. 


The House of Harris 69 

“Lunch, my dears,” Mrs. Harris called out. “Mr. Ryan 
is waiting, so come along at once.” 

Even when Mrs. Harris spoke in the most dulcet tones 
it w'as as well to do her bidding with some celerity. The 
three girls trooped into the dining-room immediately, and 
Ryan was presented. He looked ridiculously out of place 
in the somewhat bare room, for he was so obviously of 
the country. His blue serge suit was more inadequate 
than ever, and the sleeves had rucked up till quite a few 
inches of brown, sinewy army were visible. Even in his 
most daring dreams of the life that was to be his he had 
never pictured himself as being alone with four women, 
and the ordeal was more than he could face. He muttered 
something about hoping each of the two girls he now 
saw for the first time was very well, and then slowly 
backed towards the door. 

“I don’t think I shall be staying to lunch,” he said 
apprehensively. “I — I can find the place now, and I’ve 
got to meet somebody. I’m very much obliged, and — 
and I’ll bring my things this afternoon. Good-morning.” 

It was a particularly bad beginning for the gay life of 
town, but he could not help himself. Had there been 
other men present it would not have been so bad ; he 
would have steeled himself to face the matter out. But 
he knew so very little of women, and three young and by 
no means ill-looking girls might reasonably have created 
some little awkwardness even in the case of a man more 
accustomed to feminine society. Maggie he had become 
in a sense accustomed to, but it was a little too much to 
find there were others. Possibly the scene with the 
mother had partially unnerved him, and the two girls 
merely provided the last little blow necessary to shatter 
his composure altogether. But there could be no doubt 
at all as to his demoralisation. They heard him stumble 
into the hall and get his hat, and the next moment the 
door banged and he had gone. 

Inside the room there was a short silence, and then with 
one accord Mrs. Harris and her daughters burst into 
shrieks of laughter. 

“ Of all the idiots ! ” Mrs. Harris exclaimed, whfen she 
had recovered from the first effects of her merriment. 

“ What a fool ! ” Ethel echoed. 


70 


The Debt 


Frances had been as much amused as the others, for 
Ryan’s flight had been irresistibly comic. But somehow 
it jarred upon her to hear the utter contempt in Ethel’s 
voice. 

“Somehow,” she said, “I think I rather like him.” 

“So do I,” Maggie remarked, happy in the knowledge 
that she was acting up to her good intentions for once 
in a way. . 


CHAPTER VII 


A BEGINNING 

Ryan had arranged to meet Lensford at three o’clock 
that afternoon, the idea being that he could be taken to 
the stores and introduced to Jenkins. His official duties 
would not start till the morrow, but it was just as well 
to have a little informal experience first. 

When he left the boarding-house — which, by the way, 
was called Edendale — his one idea was to get as far away 
as possible without any delay. He had a hazy sort of 
idea that one of the girls might come after him, and insist 
on his having lunch, and the thought filled him with 
terror. The loss of the lunch itself was a small matter. 
He was accustomed to taking his meals at such times as 
happened to be convenient, and the missing of one or two 
was a circumstance of no consequence whatever. 

He slowly recovered his self-possession as he hurried 
along the quiet Hillbrow roads, for at that hour the 
suburban population was at lunch, and there was very 
little traffic. With the unconscious habit of years he had 
carefully noted the way from town, and even if there had 
not been the tram lines as a guide, he would have found 
no difficulty in finding Universal Bank Buildings again. 
But it was only half-past one, and the appointment was 
not till three. 

He strolled quietly along when he considered he was 
safe from any pursuit, and descended the long hill leading 
towards the town proper. The tarred road struck un- 
bearably hot to his unaccustomed feet, and he began to 
feel a quite unusual sense of fatigue. It almost frightened 
him, for the feeling was so utterly strange to him. There 
is a vast difference between walking along the unkept, 
winding tracks of the veld, and toiling through the streets 
of a city. 

Presently he noticed the gates of the park. Even the 

7X 


The Debt 


72 

small dorps he had been accustomed to often boasted a 
park, and though this one seemed a little more imposing, 
a little more neatly kept, as befitted a place of the size 
of Johannesburg, there was something gratefully familiar 
about it. 

With a little sigh of satisfaction he entered the gates, 
and took off his hat as he found the shade of the young 
oak trees. It^ was all very square and artificial, but at 
least it was green, and there was no traffic to dodge. He 
hardly realised that nature had meant him for the wilds, 
and that even this parody of nature was better than the 
utter desecration of the tarred roads. The citizens of 
Johannesburg thought little or nothing of their park, except 
to speculate idly as to how much it cost per annum ; but 
to Ryan it was an indication of the open spaces he loved, 
a promise of peace and rest. Without quite knowing 
why — for he was not given to self-analysis — he would 
have liked to roll luxuriously on the well-kept grass lawns, 
or splash into the cool waters of the fountain. Nature 
was calling him — nature, twisted and fashioned out of all 
semblance, but still giving the same fresh, earthy smell he 
knew so well when the first rains had fallen ; still nature, 
despite the scientific guidance of a mathematical mind. 

A gardener was verv slowly and philosophically picking 
up small fragments of paper which had been left by the 
untidy. Ryan walked up to him, and started to talk. 
Generally he was a man of verv few words, but the strain 
of conversing about uninteresting and unfamiliar subjects 
all the morning had filled him with a sense of his own 
ignorance, and here was a man to whom he could talk as 
to an equal. As for the gardener, he put down the 
pronged stick with which he was spearing the paper, and 
obligingly settled himself down to discussing the weather, 
and the rainfall, and the grass, and other subjects dear' 
to Ryan’s heart. They were kindred spirits, those two, 
though the one had certain ideas about pruning and plan- 
ning which were incomprehensible to the other. But their 
talk was of nature and the things pertaining to her, and 
that was all that mattered. At last Ryan was happy again. 

But for the appearance of a more important brand of 
gardener, who interrupted the fascinating conversation in 
the most brusque manner, it is more than possible that 


A Beginning 7 3 

Ryan would not have kept his appointment with Lensford. 
But he remembered his promise when he had perforce 
to move away, and bade a reluctant farewell to his new 
friend. 

“When I have time,” he said, by way of farewell, “I 
shall come here again. You must tell me how they make 
the things grow so funnily, eh?” 

The gardener with the pronged stick — he was quite an 
old man — nodded affably. 

“Ay,” he said briefly. “Any time.” 

And so Ryan went away to meet his fate. 

He found Lensford waiting for him outside the big 
building. 

“We’ll go right away,” he said, as soon as he had his 
prot^gd by the arm. “ I have to run out to Germiston 
this afternoon, so it won’t be a bad plan to leave you at 
the store, and let you get a bit accustomed to Jenkins. 
I’ll pick you up when I get back. Jump in the car.” 

Ryan obediently, if somewhat apprehensively, stepped 
into the motor-car standing by the kerb. He had never 
been in a motor-car before, but he wasn’t going to admit 
it, or show the very real fear which possessed him. 

“Reckon this cost a lot of money, Mr. Lensford,” he 
ventured, noting the polished brass fittings to the car. 

“This? Oh, it belongs to the firm. You mustn’t think 
that a car means anything here. Why, Corner House 
alone runs over a hundred, I think, and though the men 
who use them try to appear imposing — to live up to them — 
it doesn’t amount to much. I don’t suppose there are 
half-a-dozen cars really privately owned and used for 
pleasure here. As I told you before, we are a business 
community from first to last, and if we have a motor-car 
it is simply because we have found that a car is more 
serviceable, or less expensive, than a cart or a bicycle. 
Mrs. Manager-of-Somebodies-Ltd. may go shopping in the 
afternoon, and use a fine motor-car for the purpose, but 
it is the same old car, bless you, and the Ltd. portion of 
the establishment pays the petrol bill. Now I, when I 
want to be imposing, ride a rather showy little horse I 
bought some time ago. People know the firm wouldn’t 
pay for anything so entirely useless, and are correspond- 
ingly impressed by my extravagance and affluence. That 


The Debt 


74 

is where my insight into character comes in, Ryan. The 
car cost about ;^6oo, and my horse cost ;^8o. But people 
think a lot more of me because of the horse. In a place 
where money is the only thing that matters, it is ridicu- 
lously easy to impress people. When the crash comes, you 
can always depart quietly, or assign your estate.” 

Ryan said nothing. He v/as seated beside Lensford in 
the comfortable tonneau of the car, and once they were 
past the policeman on point duty in Rissik Street, the 
chauffeur changed to the second speed, and the car swept 
forward at a rate of perhaps fifteen or twenty miles an 
hour. Ryan had never experienced anything even remotely 
approaching this, and he was far too much occupied in 
gripping the side of the car to have any time to answer. 
Lensford noticed his fixed expression, and laughed lightly. 

“Not used to it.? ” he queried pleasantly. 

“Isn’t it — isn't It going very fast?” Ryan answered 
desperately. 

“Fast? Good gracious no. If we were on the Reef 
road, now, I’d show you what she can do, but in town I 
never let Jones run her on the top speed. She’s a thirty- 
horse power, and quite new. I’ve done fifty miles an hour 
in her easy. But I never believe in the road-hog business, 
and so long as I don’t know what’s coming round the 
next corner, I don’t reckon to get past twenty. And when 
there’s any special need for speed, I like to do the driving 
myself. Great sport, and wonderfully exhilarating. 
Rather different from your two-and-a-half-mile-an-hour ox- 
wagon, eh? ” 

The car slowed to nothing round a bad corner, and 
Ryan very cautiously released his grip, and drew in a 
deep breath. Then he turned to Lensford, and there was 
a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. 

“Man, but it’s wonderful,” he said enthusiastically. 
“This is how I’m going to live now, Mr. Lensford, and 
the ox-wagon is the way I have lived before.” 

The car shot forward again along the wide road leading 
past the railway, and he sat back with a jerk, and gripped 
the side again. 

Lensford laid a hand on his arm. 

“Yes,” he said quietly, “but before you start living at 
a bat like this, be quite sure you can do It without having 


A Beginning 75 

to hold on to something’, for a time will come when there 
is nothing to hold. Some people are born for the country, 
Ryan, and some for town ; and the man who thinks he can 
juggle with the intentions of nature is the biggest ass 
going.” 

The bantering tones he usually affected were not ap- 
parent when he spoke this time, and Ryan turned to him 
in some surprise, vaguely comprehending that there was a 
side to Lensford’s character which he did not understand. 
But further conversation was stopped by their arrival at the 
store. They alighted from the car, and Lensford led the 
way inside. 

It was a very typical store, the floor partly laid with 
cement, and partly just earth stamped hard. In the main 
building were stacks of corrugated iron, with its sombre 
black felt packing ; hundreds of bundles of flat galvanised 
iron, with wooden protecting crates; spare parts for 
machinery, and a bewildering array of metal pipes and 
sundries. One end was given over to the heavier ma- 
chinery, such as mine stamps, the shoes and dies standing 
in orderlv ranks by the corrugated iron walls of the store. 
At the other end was a roughly-made stretch of heavy 
wooden pigeon-holes, in which were kept screws, and nuts, 
and washers, and various small valves and fittings, and the 
thousand and one lesser details so necessarv to the mines. 

“Of course this is just the one store,” Lensford ex- 
plained. “There are three others. The small one to the 
right we use mostly for pumps and pump parts. You’ll 
have to learn a deuce of a lot about three-throw-plunger 
and centrifugal pumps, dear man, to say nothing of hori- 
zontal and vertical pumps, and a whole host of minor 
details. We keep our paints and oils in there too. 
Thousands of drums of oils, and you want to know just 
which kind is used for any particular purpose. Heavy 
oils and light oils, you understand, and greases. Through 
that door on vour left is the store where we keep lime and 
cement, and bagged stuff generally; and across the road 
is the place for stable stores. You’ll be more at home 
there. Why in thunder we do our own cartage passes 
my comprehension, as it comes much more expensive than 
getting it done by contract. One of old Strauss’s ideas — 
thinks it lends dignity to the firm, or something old- 


The Debt 


76 

fashioned like that. Just as if anybody here cares a hang 
for dignity, if it costs money.” 

He walked across the store and through the door on 
the right, to discover Jenkins busy superintending the 
loading of a wagon with machinery. He came over as 
soon as he saw Lensford, and nodded genially. 

“Morning, Mr. Lensford,” he said. “Don’t say as ’ow 
there’s anythink else for the East Rand. I’ve ’ad three 
wagons out there to-day, and if I’d waited a bit one could 
’ave done the ’ole lot without any trouble. But it’s always 
the same old yarn — everythink must go immedjut, and ’ang 
the expense.” 

“No, I shan’t worry you till to-morrow morning,” 
Lensford replied. “There will be a couple of full loads 
for Roodepoort, I think. By the way, Jenkins, you must 
find it a pretty heavy job keeping up to date, eh?” 

Jenkins rose to the bait at once. In his virtuous agita- 
tion he became almost polite, and his accent was very much 
more pronounced. 

“Yessir,” he said. “This ain’t no bloomin’ picnic of a 
job, and yer can tike it from me there ain’t many men wot 
could manidge it like I done all these years. P’raps you 
could siy a word for me, Mr. Lensford? ’Ow orften does 
a complynt come in?” 

“There’s one in to-day — rather a bad one. That’s what 
made me think you had too much to do. So I’ve managed 
to get you an assistant.” 

Jenkins did not seem delighted. Indeed, his jaw 
dropped, and he stood looking at Lensford as though 
he couldn’t believe the dreadful tidings. For seven years 
he had ruled undisturbed, and only heaven and himself 
knew how much he had made' in addition to his salary, 
which was now thirty pounds a month. But if Lensford 
did not know, he at least had a very shrewd suspicion. 

“Don’t look so horrified, Jenkins,” he said pleasantly. 
“You’ll have time now to keep sets of books in the 
evenings, and make quite a lot of money.” 

Jenkins expectorated loudly and with much precision, 
and then wiped his mouth with the back of a very dirty 
hand. 

“Oh, I’m not ’arf glad,” he said, without enthusiasm. 
“The on’y thing was that I thort if the firm was going to 


A Beginning 77 

lash out a bit, the hextra might come my wiy. I dessay 
I can mike use of a man, so long as ’e don’t think ’e knows 
more abaht the blomin’ work than I do.” 

“Whatever his other faults may be, I can assure you 
he won’t think that,” Lensford replied. “This is the 
man — er — Mr. Ryan, Mr. Jenkins.” 

Jenkins felt it was a time for courtesy. 

“Pleased to meet yer,” he said, and held out his hand. 

“And now,” Lensford went on, “having introduced you. 
I’ll leave you to get to know each other. This is an 
unofficial visit, Jenkins, as Ryan doesn’t begin work till 
to-morrow morning. I’m sure you’ll find him willing 
and useful, and remember that he is a personal friend of 
mine. Let him down lightly for a bit, and I shan’t 
forget.” 

He nodded to the storeman, and walked towards the 
door. 

“I’ll call for you about five, Ryan,” he added, and then 
entered his car and was driven rapidly away. 

Jenkins looked his assistant up and down with an 
appraising eye — an eye that was very shrewd at judging 
men. 

“ Blime ! ” he said at last, “but you ain’t ’arf a rum 
’un, I don't think. Where the blazes did ’e find you? 
Don’t start shaking that ’ead of yours, or the plice will 
be all littered up with ’ay seed. Ever bin in a store 
before? ” 

Ryan felt very much out of his element, and was vaguely 
afraid of the sharp-tongued little man, whom he hardly 
understood at all. 

“No,” he answered briefly. 

“There now — ’ood ’ave thort it! But if you’re a pal 
of old Lensford’s, there must be somethink clarssy about 
you. ’E’s a good sort — Lensford.” 

Ryan did not answer. He felt instinctively that the 
storeman was trying to draw him on to speak of Lensford, 
so was silent. He rather wanted to speak about Lensford, 
but not when others asked him to. Jenkins looked at him 
with his head a little on one side, for all the world like an 
exaggerated sparrow, and then chuckled. 

“Come on, cully,” he said. “I dessay we’ll ’it it off 
orlright, and, w’en all’s said and done, you’re a fine figger 


The Debt 


78 

of a man, as the girl said to the soljer. There’s a trolley 
loading up now, so you’d better sit tight and watch me.” 

Ryan knew that, if not exactly welcomed with open 
arms, he was at least reprieved for the time being. He 
followed Jenkins to the yard by the second store, and sat 
down on some bags to imbibe as much knowledge as 
possible. And almost the first thing he noticed was that 
the storeman couldn’t speak any native language. It gave 
him a very pleasant feeling of renewed confidence in himself, 
for he spoke several dialects fluently, and could have made 
himself understood by any native of southern South Africa. 
Jenkins would either give his commands in English to the 
head store boy, who was a Zulu, for translation, or would 
shout them in a wonderful language peculiarly his own, 
which he modestly alluded to as kitchen Kaffir. The work 
went on smoothly for the most part, for the native is an 
adept at understanding the things which are not said, but 
merely indicated by a waving of arms and a display of 
anger. It was only in the more intricate details that there 
was apt to be a hitch. 

They were loading the second wagon when Ryan 
decided to interfere. A lot of light steel pipes had been 
put on the wagon, and Jenkins suddenly discovered that 
half-a-dozen heavy packing-cases had to go to the same 
destination. Obviously they could not be dropped anyhow 
on the pipes, and a re-stacking was necessary. He tried 
to give his instructions direct, the head boy not being 
available at the moment. 

“ ’Ere, you — funny face — wot’s yer name, voet sak them 
’ere pipes, an’ load lo bokkis first,” he called out. 

The native alluded to as “funny face ” apparently didn’t 
understand, and Jenkins waxed indignant. 

“Yer thick- ’eaded ass,” he shouted, “can’t y’ under- 
stand yer own langwidge? Voet sak lo pipes, an’ put on 
lo bokkis first — twig?” 

Still the native failed to gather his meaning, but stood 
with a patient and engaging smile on his face. Ryan 
took his pipe out of his mouth, and said a few words in 
Sesuto, for he had already arrived at the several nation- 
alities of the boys in the store. The native understood at 
once, and proceeded to unload the pipes as desired. 

Jenkins regarded Ryan with renewed interest. 


A Beginning 79 

“Lummy,” he said, “but you tawk just like one of ’em, 
you do. 1 ain’t much of a ’and at it myself, but I gener- 
ally rubs along orlright. I’d give a few quid to be able 
to spit it out like that, though. Makes the beggars work 
all the better, don’t it?” 

Ryan nodded without speaking. 

The pipes having been moved from the wagon, the boys 
started to load up the heavy boxes. A little to one side 
there were a couple of bags of cement, weighing, perhaps, 
a couple of hundred pounds each. Ryan noticed these, 
and the desire to shine in the eyes of his Cockney superior 
took hold of him. In a way he felt himself so im- 
measurably inferior to that sharp-tongued little man who 
was so very sure of himself, and he had an almost childish 
craving to really do something to impress him. He knew 
his own strength, and he knew that it would probably find 
favour in the eyes of the storeman. Still without saying 
anything, he took off his coat, and quietly caught hold of 
one of the bags. A quick jerk and turn, and he had it 
on his back. Then he tipped it into its appointed place 
on the wagon, and turned to lift the second bag. 

Jenkins was undoubtedly impressed. He whistled 
loudly, and spat. Then he walked up to Ryan and 
gravely felt his arm. 

“You’ll do, cully,” he remarked affably. “L’m begin- 
ning to think as I took a bit of a risk when I pulled your 
leg just now. You can’t ’arf ’eave things abart, you 
can’t ! There ain’t no silly pride abart me, an’ if you can 
shunt things in that way, w’y, you an’ me’s going to be 
friends. On the ’ole I think we may make you a credit 
to the firm yet.” 

Ryan coloured with pleasure. It was a compliment from 
headquarters, and it made him long to do yet greater 
deeds to show his strength. It was a little enough thing 
in its way, but it put new heart into him, and made him 
less apprehensive of the morrow. 

“I’ll work — if you tell me what to do,” he said briefly. 

“Oh, you won’t ’ave to do much ’umping of bags,” 
Jenkins replied. “We leave that to the boys. But I 
know a man when I sees one, and wot I meant was that 
if it come to a scrap. I’d like to be alongside of you 
instead of in front.” 


8o 


The Debt 


He broke off as they both heard a motor-car pulling up 
by the yard gate, and then swore softly. 

“ ’Ere comes old Feinbaum,” he said in a low voice. 
“ ’E’s a low-down blighter, and one of these ’ere days ’im 
and me will be ’aving a bit of a set-to. Afternoon, Mr. 
Feinbaum.” 

Feinbaum, who was passing through the yard to get to 
the inner store, nodded curtly, and then paused to glance 
at the wagon which was loading up. 

“What about that grease for the Wolhoek Mine?” he 
demanded. 

“First thing to-morrow, sir,” Jenkins replied, with just 
the faintest accent on the courtesy title. “I ^ad three 
wagons out on the East Rand this morning, an’ can’t spare 
any more to-day. It’s only five drums.” 

“I told you it was to go this afternoon.” 

“But the order only come through after twelve,” 
Jenkins protested, “and they ain’t in anythink of a ’urry.” 

Feinbaum flushed angrily. 

“I don’t want to know what you think about it,” he 
said savagely. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, Jenkins, 
or it will be the worse for you. I’m beginning to think 
it’s about time we had a new storeman. There are too 
many curious things going on now. And what do you 
mean by having the place full of strangers? Here — you ! ” 
to Ryan — “get out of it. D’you hear?” 

Ryan made no attempt to move. He understood per- 
fectly what he was supposed to do, but there kept echoing 
in his brain Lensford’s words with regard to this man, 
and he felt a little glow of satisfaction in ignoring him. 
He was very grateful to Lensford, and it was pleasant to 
feel that he could ignore Feinbaum. 

The latter strode quickly across the yard. 

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he shouted. 

Ryan took his pipe from his mouth, and carefully put it 
in his pocket. 

“Yes,” he said simply. 

“Then why the devil don’t you go? D’you want me to 
throw you out? ” 

Ryan actually smiled. If he had been versed in all the 
guile of towns, he could hardly have done anything more 
calculated thoroughly to enrage Feinbaum; but, as a 


A Beginning 8 1 

matter of fact, he smiled quite naturally, because the idea 
of Feinbaum throwing him out struck him as being funny. 
He had inherited some of his father’s sense of humour, 
but not quite as much as he should have done. 

“If you like,” he said pleasantly, and rubbed his hands 
together as a precautionary measure. 

Jenkins was enjoying himself tremendously, but he 
thought it was time for him to interfere. 

“ ’E’s my new assistant, Mr. Feinbaum,” he said. “Mr. 
Lensford brought him down — friend of ’is, like.” 

“Oh, is he? Then why the devil couldn’t he say so? ” 

He turned to Ryan again. 

“Why didn’t you say you were working here? ” he 
demanded. 

“You didn’t ask me,” Ryan replied. 

“And — and what d’you mean by sitting there idling? 
Smoking a pipe, and loafing?” 

“ ’E only starts work to-morrow,” Jenkins- interposed. 

There was a little silence. Feinbaum glared at Ryan, 
and the latter smiled awkwardly because he didn’t quite 
know what he ought to do. Then he produced his pipe, 
and began to scrape it out. Feinbaum shrugged his 
shoulders impatiently, and walked towards the yard gate. 

“Don’t forget about that grease,” he called over his 
shoulder, by way of maintaining his dignity. 

Jenkins said nothing till the noise of the engine told him 
that the motor-car had started away. Then he turned to 
Ryan and burst into a roar of laughter. 

“ Oh, my Gawd ! ” he said, becoming increasingly 
Cockney, as he always did when excited, “but you didn’t 
’arf draw it acrorst ’im, you didn’t ! ’E’ll ’ave it into you 
for this, and you’ll ’ave to keep both eyes skinned or ’e’ll 
’ave you safe as a ’ouse. Wot a picnic ! ’Ere, shike 
’ands, my little farmer boy.” 

Ryan gravely shook hands. He did not quite know why 
he should do so, but he at least realised that Jenkins meant 
it as a sincere compliment, and that was the main thing. 

“Does he always shout like that?” he asked. 

“Oh yes, ’e shouts so as ’e shan’t ’ear ’is ’eart jumping 
abart. ’E’s a damned bully, ’e is — that’s wot ’e is.” 

He spat violently again to emphasise his disgust. As 
a matter of fact he had a very real grievance against 
G 


82 


The Debt 


Feinbaum. The latter had gradually acquired control over 
the whole of the outside interests of the firm, except those 
in the hands of Lensford. He was undoubtedly good at 
his work, and had a loud, blustering, friendly way which 
went down well with the sort of men with whom he was 
called upon to deal. For a long time he had had his eye 
on the store, for he felt convinced that Jenkins was adding 
to his salary in sundry ways which were not strictly legiti- 
mate. He himself was by no means averse to such aids 
to income on any moral grounds, but it hurt him exceed- 
ingly to think that Jenkins was possibly making a little 
which might much more fittingly be made by Feinbaum. 
A year previously he had persuaded Strauss that he needed 
an office to himself down at the store, for the purpose of 
keeping papers relating solely to that department, and 
moneys in connection with Kaffir labour, and many other 
reasons. Jenkins’s office had been partitioned into two 
accordingly, and the inner portion was always kept locked, 
and reserved exclusively for the use of Feinbaum at such 
times as he might need it. Sometimes the door would not 
be opened for days at a time, and the office was obviously 
quite unnecessary. But Feinbaum knew that it would 
annoy Jenkins, and he was the sort of man who took a 
delight in annoying. 

But, try as he would, he had never managed to catch 
the storeman doing anything that was not strictly as it 
should be. At times he almost thought that his suspicions 
were unfounded, and yet he knew perfectly well that, were 
he the storeman, there would be so many ways. Truly 
do we judge others by ourselves, even when we do not 
judge ourselves. 

“ ’E’s a bully,” Jenkins repeated, speaking more quietly 
after a pause devoted to thinking over his wrongs. ” ’E 
’as that office inside, and I ’ave to do my books in a bit 
of a ’ole six by twelve in consequence. And ’e thinks I’m 
up to some funny business ’ere, and ’e’s going to catch 
me.” He grinned at Ryan. “ ’/m catch me ! ” he added, 
in tones which indicated a conscious appreciation of his 
own talents rather than any indignation at an unjust 
suspicion. 

He went into his office to make out a way-bill for the 
wagon, which was now loaded up, and then came back 


A Beginning 83 

and explained the proceedings to Ryan. At least the new 
assistant could understand this. He was accustomed to 
way-bills. 

“And I suppose you know all about ’orses and mules 
and wot they eats?” Jenkins asked, when the documents 
had been satisfactorily explained. “We ’ave a Cape boy 
as ’ead of the stable, and I believe the beggar is in with 
some of the produce dealers, and makes a pot of money. 
It ’urts me to think of a blarsted coloured man making a 
bit, and I reckon you’ll come in there. Just come across 
to the stables now, and ’ave a look round. I can ’ardly 
tell an oat from a cabbage, but with you to give me an 
’and, I dessay them dealers will be coming round to see 
me pretty soon, as it should be, instead of sneaking to the 
stable to ’ave a chat with Heindrik.” 

At a quarter past five Lensford drove up to the store, 
which was already closed. In the yard he found Ryan 
and Jenkins, evidently on the best of terms, sitting on a 
couple of empty packing cases. Ryan had been yarning 
about the life of the veld, and the Cockney, not to be 
outdone as regards the marvellous, had responded with a 
choice assortment of anecdotes concerning his stormy up- 
bringing in the City of Fog. He explained that all these 
things happened before he was really old enough to know 
better. 

Lensford smiled when he saw how interested the two 
men were in each other, and then walked up to them. 

“Well, Jenkins,” he said, “and do you think the new 
man will suit? ” 

Jenkins rose to his feet with the instinctive politeness 
he always accorded to Lensford. 

“Do.^” he said. “Why, ’e must ’ave bin made for the 
job, Mr. Lensford, and ’im and me is going to ’it it off 
first-rate.” 

“I thought so — curiously enough. And now, Ryan, I 
want you to ask me to come home and have dinner with 
you.” 

Ryan thought of the luncheon ordeal, and a wave of 
relief passed over him at the prospect of the immense 
moral support of Lensford. He was too unversed in town 
life to realise the sacrifice Lensford was making for him. 

“Why, if you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Lensford,” he said. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN 

During his afternoon’s travel along the Reef Road, 
over which dusty thoroughfare his duties called him at 
least three or four times a week, Lensford had been doing 
some hard thinking. The various indications of the great 
industry of the Rand — the towering headgears, the. cyanide 
tanks, the iron battery houses with the roar of the stamps 
inside sounding like surf beating on a rocky shore — were 
too familiar to him to distract his attention materially, and 
he was accustomed to the dust. In many ways he was 
essentially a fatalist, and though he frequently expressed 
surprise at his own foolishness in remaining in such a place 
as Johannesburg, he stayed on and made the best of it. 
He hated the dust and grime of it, he frankly despised 
the majority of the people with whom he came in contact, 
he felt very keenly the entire lack of any artistic beauty in 
the town or its surroundings, but — it was too much trouble 
to go somewhere else. 

It was a very different matter with Ryan, however. 
He belonged to the veld — to the wide, open spaces where 
the littleness of human nature is not always so very appar- 
ent — and this desire to settle in a town was only the 
eternal craving for change. Ryan had inherited in a 
marked degree the failing handed down to us from the 
time of the Garden of Eden, and wanted to see and know 
things for himself. Lensford did not doubt for a moment 
that a few weeks would be quite enough for the experi- 
ment, and that Ryan would then be just as keen to get 
back to the wilds as he had been to leave them. Thereby 
he showed that he did not appreciate the strength of 
purpose which actuated the big man, but in the main he 
was correct. 

He had seen so many young fellows go under altogether 
on the Rand. They came with a few pounds in their 

84 


The Plan of Campaign 85 

pocket, perhaps, thinking there would be no difficulty in 
obtaining a situation of sorts. The money would dwindle 
at the incredible rate so difficult to check in Johannesburg, 
where a four-roomed house with no garden lets for ;£io 
a month, and incompetent native servants demand as 
much as per month for their indifferent services. And 
when the money had gone there began that tramping 
from end to end of the Reef, asking at each and every 
mine for a job as clerk, or timekeeper, or storeman’s 
assistant — anything ! The miners were at least good- 
hearted, and many a wanderer had a square meal paid for 
at the boarding-house, and afterwards went along to the 
quarters to drink as much whisky as ever he cared to 
take. But Lensford knew vaguely what became of these 
men at*the finish. 

Others, again, came to decent situations, with salaries 
which sounded almost a fortune to those who did not 
know the Rand. If they were single they rubbed along 
fairly well, and might even save enough to escape to 
England every few years, as their leave permitted. But 
there was no hope of anything but continual striving and 
pinching for the married men. And so they drifted into 
other ways of trying to make a little money. Perhaps 
they started going to the races, kindly disposed friends 
giving them tickets which admitted them to the lesser 
meetings. Perhaps they speculated on the Stock Ex- 
change, where loud-voiced but anxious-eyed brokers 
shouted themselves hoarse in a half-hearted attempt to 
appear busy, and shabby hangers on spoke regretfully of 
the good times when the boom was on ; for the share 
market is not what it used to be in Johannesburg, and 
failures are many. 

Lensford thought over all these things as he sped along 
the road, and he determined that Ryan should not go the 
way which so many had gone before him. A few weeks’ 
work, with a little dissipation paid for at exorbitant rates ; 
a few lady acquaintances — Lensford knew just the women 
for the purpose — and a few bills which he could never 
hope to pay, and Ryan would be only too willing to leave 
Johannesburg for ever, and take up the clean, peaceful 
life again with his father, and old Robinson, and the 
wagons. 


86 


The Debt 


The car was nearing- town on its return journey before 
Lensford had settled the details of his plan of campaign, 
for he had quite made up his mind to be the fairy god- 
father, so to speak, of Ryan in Johannesburg. It amused 
him to think of himself in this role, for his own life left 
very much to be desired, and even his best friend would 
not have called him a good man. He drank too much, 
and gambled, and knew many women who, though perhaps 
they belonged to the society of the place, were neverthe- 
less best left alone. In short, he went the pace very 
thoroughly, did Lensford, and no one was as well aware 
of it as himself. But the fact that he chose to lead one 
kind of life did not prevent his realising that other kinds 
were infinitely better. He was essentially broad-minded, 
as are most fatalists. Therefore he decided that he would 
attend to Ryan’s education himself. 

He leaned forward as the car turned into Eloff Street, 
and touched the chauffeur on the shoulder. 

“Drive round to Greenway’s before you go to the store,” 
he said. 

The chauffeur nodded, and in a few minutes pulled up 
outside the unimposing shop of the principal tailor in the 
town. 

Lensford went inside, and was greeted with easy 
familiarity by the proprietor. In Johannesburg the tailor 
is not only the better man sartorially, but as often as not 
socially and financially as well. 

“How do, Mr. Lensford,” he said affably. “Didn’t see 
you at the dance last night.” 

“I wasn’t there,” Lensford replied. “Had a bad time 
at the races, you know, and didn’t feel like further dis- 
sipation; so went to the Empire to find a sympathetic 
atmosphere.” 

Mr. Greenway laughed loudly. He never quite under- 
stood Lensford, but the latter possessed the unique recom- 
mendation of dressing well, dressing expensively, and 
paying his bills regularly. Obviously he was entitled to 
more than a little consideration. 

“Didn’t you back Tokio in the top weights?” Mr. 
Greenway demanded, when his mirth had subsided. “I 
told you to.” 

“Granted. You’re wonderfully good at finding them, 


The Plan of Campaign 87 

Greenway, and I ought to have done so. But don’t forget 
you also told me to put my shirt — you did say ‘ put my 
shirt,’ didn’t you? — on Alphonse for the Handicap. I 
did so, and Alphonse was fifth.” 

” There now ! I was out there myself, and was looking 
all over the place to find you. The books got at Smith- 
son, and Alphonse was only out for an airing. Didn’t 
you see that the jockey had no spurs? That horse never 
tries unless he gets a lot of punishment.” 

Lensford laughed easily. 

“My dear Greenway,” he said, “your knowledge of the 
Sport of Kings is far too intimate and peculiar to be 
wasted on such a humble follower as am I. I saw 
Alphonse had a good jockey up, and it did not occur to 
me to examine his boots. Hence I lost money. But I 
haven’t any time to waste now. I want your assistance 
in a small matter. A young friend of mine — he is not so 
very young, by the way — is up seeing life in Johannes- 
burg, and I want him rigged out. Say a dress suit, and 
a flannel one, and some tweeds. I will be responsible for 
the bill, but you mustn’t let him realise what the things 
cost. If he asks, just bluff him out, and say he can pay 
any time. He has no idea of prices here. Possibly I may 
ask you to sue him later for the amount, but it will only 
be because of a little plan I am developing, and you may 
always look to me for payment.” 

Mr. Greenway rubbed his hands together, and then 
spread them out as though for inspection ; his action said 
as plainly as possible that there was no deception what- 
ever. It belonged to those far-off days when Mr. Green- 
way’s name was Liknavitzky, and he was in a very small 
wav of business on the Reef. 

“Right you are — mum’s the word, Mr. Lensford,” he 
replied. “When will he come round?” 

“I’m going to fetch him now. He’s a fine figure of a 
man, Greenway, and I tvant you to make a good job 
of him.” 

And so Ryan was driven to the tailor’s place on the way 
home. It never occurred to him to query the idea, or 
inquire at all as to the possible cost. Lensford had told 
him that he must have new clothes in order to appear 
more of a Johannesburger, and that was enough. His 


88 


The Debt 


blue suit — the one he had bought at an exorbitant figure 
from a little store in Vansrust, and which he had intended 
to reserve for special occasions — was held to be quite good 
enough for work in the store. Ryan was duly impressed, 
and submitted to the ordeal of being measured without the 
least demur. 

It was only as they were leaving the shop that the 
question of price occurred to him. He had never had 
occasion to worry about money, and had all the contempt 
of ignorance for financial matters. 

“I forgot,” he said. “You didn’t say how much ” 

Mr. Greenway was ushering him out. 

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” he said affably. 
“We won’t ruin you. And seeing that you’re a friend of 
Mr. Lensford’s, you can pay any time you like. Can’t 
say off-hand how much it will be, but we won’t ruin you.” 

And having thus dodged the question with what he 
prided himself was more than ordinary delicacy and tact, 
Mr. Greenway proceeded to make an entry in his books 
which more than accounted for Ryan’ s first month’s 
salary. 

Lensford did not allow Ryan to proceed home even after 
this had been satisfactorily accomplished. Instead, he 
drove him to his club. It was just the sort of thing 
Lensford would do, for he knew that Ryan’s appearance 
would occasion some comment. The origin of some of 
the club members may have been shrouded in the closest 
mystery, but their financial present was obvious enough, 
for the most part, and they resented the appearance of 
uncouth strangers in their midst. Lensford had no respect 
whatever for money, but in a curious, half humorous 
manner he certainly respected Ryan. 

“Hulloa, Gayford,” he said, addressing a particularly 
haughty-looking man who was seated on one of the 
lounges near the entrance. “ Let me introduce a friend of 
mine. Mr. Ryan — Mr. Gayford. He’s not nearly so 
ferocious as he looks, Ryan, even if he is a town 
councillor.” 

Gayford was obviously surprised. 

“Er — how d’you do?” he said, with a marked lack 
of enthusiasm. 

Ryan had profited through watching Lensford. 


The Plan of Campaign 89 

“Oh, pretty well,” he answered indifferently, and 
glanced covertly at his mentor. 

“The old man raises stock somewhere in the Colony,” 
Lensford went on, aside, and with a certain amount of 
truth. “ Had a row, so far as I can make out. This 
chap’s up here with an idea that he must work. I’m 
going to let him amuse himself at the store. Pots of 
money, I believe. All over in a few weeks, I think. The 
row, I mean.” 

Gayford, who was really quite a good-hearted man, 
felt that he could commit himself with a certain amount 
of safety. 

“Er — glad to meet you,” he said, with more affability. 
“ Er — come and have a drink, eh? ” 

As a matter of fact they had four drinks. Ryan was 
introduced to three other men, and as Lensford kept the 
conversation on such familiar grounds as the breeding of 
cattle, and shooting, and the state of the roads in the 
out-districts, he managed to acquit himself fairly well. 
Lensford, who knew nothing as to his friend’s capacity 
as regarded intoxicants, suggested sherry and bitters as 
being the least risky. Ryan was a big man, and it would 
have been very awkward indeed if he had become at all 
obstreperous. 

They left the club just before seven and drove rapidly 
in the direction of home, as typified by Edendale. 

“Well, how d’you find she’s shaping?” Lensford 
demanded. 

Ryan did not answer immediately. He was filled with 
such a complexity of emotions that he did not quite know 
what he thought of it all. The feeling of helplessness 
had almost entirely left him, but he was not quite sure he 
was enjoying himself. Those men at the club were some- 
how different from him, and he knew it. And he would 
have to meet Mrs. Harris again that evening, and the 
Misses Harris. He dreaded meeting the girls much more 
than the mother, which was a sufficient indication of 
his nature. 

“I don’t quite know,” he said finally. 

Lensford looked at him shrewdly. 

“That’s right,” he said. “Don’t commit yourself till 
you’re sure. After grub I want you to come to my rooms. 


The Debt 


90 

The first thing we must do is to find out what you can 
drink, and how you behave when you’ve had a little too 
much. It is a most interesting study. I feel sure you 
won’t prove a beast, but I’m quite faddy on this point, 
and there must be no scenes when you are with me, you 
understand. I want you to keep your end up, but no 
beastliness. This is the place, isn’t it?” 

Ryan nodded, and then suddenly laid his hand on 
Lensford’s arm. 

“Tell me,” he said. “What was it you were saying to 
those men about my father? ” 

“So you heard, did you? Well, perhaps it’s just as 
well. I want you to see a little life here, Ryan, and you 
will have to mix with rather a quaint mob of people. 
But Johannesburg is not London, and if you mix with 
the multitude here, the multitude will want to mix with 
you. They would probably try to sit on you if they knew 
you hadn’t a bean and the old man was a transport rider. 
Their point of view, you understand — not mine. To help 
things along I said something about stock raising, and 
your not really having to work. Quite true, you know. 
Old Father — your dad does breed cattle — or buy calves, 
at any rate ; and he has a farm in the Colony. Moreover, 
he would be only too glad to have you back. All you 
have to do is to keep quiet. The less you say about 
yourself, the more people will imagine. If you decide 
to remain in Johannesburg, after a few months, you can 
drop the pretence. But unless I can take you about as 
a friend it will be a little difficult.” 

To do him justice, the possibility that Ryan might elect 
to settle in Johannesburg never entered into Lensford’s 
calculations, or he would not have suggested a course 
which could only lead to the eventual discomfiture of his 
friend. He pictured Ryan as staying for perhaps a month, 
and then returning discreetly to avoid various little bills, 
and other troubles, which were not wholly unconnected 
with Lensford himself. It would be a holiday for the 
man from the wilds, and useful experience. He would 
doubtless enjoy it immensely as a change, and — Lensford 
would cheerfully pay those little bills. 

“If you think so, Mr. Lensford,” Ryan replied a little 
doubtfully. “I suppose people in towns like this are a 


The Plan of Campaign 91 

little different, and so long- as you don’t say anything 
against my father ” 

“Against him? Why, my dear chap, I admire the old 
boy immensely. No end of a sportsman. So it’s settled, 
eh? All you have to do is to say nothing.” 

Ryan smiled a little. 

“i can do that,” he said. 


CHAPTER IX 


A DINNER PARTY 

The dining-room at Edendale had been arranged with a 
view to accommodating as many paying guests as possible. 
It was not that Mrs. Harris was large-hearted, but that she 
was frankly out to get as much as she could, as one of her 
own boarders remarked. After all, a paying guest is just 
as much an asset as a boarder, and may even be induced 
to pay a little extra for the courtesy title ; and Mrs. Harris 
would have scorned the accusation of keeping a boarding- 
house. 

In order to economise space, one long table ran the 
entire length of the dining-room, and Mrs. Harris’s opinion 
of her guests could be gauged with mathematical accuracy 
according to their positions thereat. The head of the 
festive board — the holy of holies — was occupied by Mrs. 
Harris herself. On her right sat her eldest daughter, 
Ethel; and on her left was Maggie, with Frances 
immediately next to her. It was not that Mrs. Harris 
considered her daughters of more importance than the 
guests — far from it. But she knew what was due to them 
as her daughters, and also she liked to keep an eye on 
them. Possiblv she realised the weakness of her own 
principles, and believed in the doctrine of heredity. 

There were seven guests in all, and these filled the 
remaining places at the table in order of merit, merit being 
construed to mean their financial importance. Next to 
Ethel was a faded old gentleman, who had been with 
Mrs. Harris ever since she first received guests, and who 
lacked the courage to escape. Ethel continuallv bemoaned 
the fact that such unpromising material should be placed 
beside her, but her mother was adamant. A paying guest 
was an asset, but a prospective son-in-law might easily 
become a liability. And, moreover, Mr. Feinbaum cer- 

92 


A Dinner Party 93 

tainly seemed to have notions as regarded Ethel. Beside 
Frances was a young fellow who worked in a bank. He 
was very dark and very quiet, and altogether quite one of 
the nicest of the guests ; and his name was Douglas. His 
financial position was really not so very great, but he paid 
as much as any of the others for his board, and paid regu- 
i3.rly. Next to him again was a clerk in a wholesale house, 
while immediately opposite was the facetious Mr. Edwards, 
who travelled in soft goods, and was considered to make 
a good thing out of it. Then came a youth who worked 
in the same bank as Douglas, and a secretary for some 
minor company. Ryan was the seventh guest, and it is 
doubtful if Mrs. Harris would have accepted him had she 
really known the position he was to hold with the firm of 
Strauss and Van der Bloom. She prided herself on the 
high social standing of her guests, and nothing would 
have induced her to receive a shopman, or a mechanic. 
But the fact that her own daughter worked with Strauss 
and Van der Bloom naturally predisposed her in favour of 
a gentleman introduced by one of the partners, and in any 
case she didn’t know what Ryan was. 

Soup had already been served when Lensford and Ryan 
entered the room. Having been carefully coached, Ryan 
managed to introduce Lensford more or less correctly to 
Mrs. Harris and her daughters, and Mrs. Harris was 
divided between pleasure at receiving an honoured guest, 
and annoyance that he came as an entire surprise. Lens- 
ford gravely bowed when introduced to her, but smiled 
pleasantly enough at Maggie. 

“We have met,” he said politely. 

Maggie, as was her unfortunate habit, blushed vividly, 
and giggled, whereat Mr. Edwards coughed meaningly. 
Lensford regarded him with such obvious contempt, how- 
ever, that he tried hard to change the cough into a real 
one, and very nearly choked in the process. 

It would hardly have done to rearrange the guests, much 
as Mrs. Harris would have liked to have Lensford put in 
the high place among the elect; so he and Ryan took the 
foot of the table, and the meal proceeded on its interrupted 
way. 

Mr. Edwards, who doubtless felt that he ought to do 
something to indicate his entire self-possession, started 


94 The Debt 

talking immediately. He was a little weak with his 
“ aitches.” 

“Awful windy in town to-day, Mrs. ’Arris,” he observed. 

The good lady finished giving some instructions in a 
loud aside to the boy, and then turned to the speaker. 

“Yes? ” she queried politely. 

“Rather. But a windy day isn’t what it used to be.” 

Obviously Mr. Edwards was working up to one of his 
celebrated jests. Ethel smiled at him appreciatively. 

“These ’ere tight skirts,” he explained. 

Ethel sniggered dutifully, and Maggie very nearly 
followed her example, but caught the expression on 
Frances’ face just in time, and refrained. 

“I’m surprised at you, Mr. Edwards,” Mrs. Harris 
answered, with very mild severity. “Don’t take any 
notice of him, Mr. Lensford,” she went on. “He always 
will have his joke.” 

“Oh yes — a joke,” Lensford said, with very rare obtuse- 
ness, and turned to talk to Ryan. 

Mr. Edwards proceeded to elaborate the joke to a certain 
extent, but Mrs. Harris was no fool, and was not going 
to allow too many liberties — when strangers were present. 

“There now — that’ll do, Mr. Edwards,” she said, and 
Mr. Edwards knew from her voice that in very truth it 
was time for that particular jest to finish. 

Douglas, the quiet man, leaned forward and spoke. 

“Didn’t I see you at the Country Club last Sunday, 
Mr. Lensford? ” he asked. 

Lensford was a little surprised. He was a frequenter 
of the Club, as were several of his lady friends. But 
somehow he did not place Douglas there at all. 

“Quite possible,” he answered politely. “I am usually 
there on Sunday, you know. And you?” 

“ I was playing tennis with a friend. I noticed you 
particularly because you went out of your way to find a 
ball we sent over the netting.” 

“Indeed! It is pleasant to find one’s good deeds 
remembered. Now you mention it, I was rather struck 
with the game you were playing. I used to be fairly good 
myself at one time, but I doubt if I could hit a ball over 
the net now.” 

Douglas was essentially a sportsman — that is to say. 


A Dinner Party 95 

a man who played games, as distinct from a man who 
merely looked at them and betted on the result. 

“Any time you would like a game — I’m a member of 
the Berea ’’ he began pleasantly. 

Lensford shook his head. 

“Sorry,” he said, “but I gave up most games years 
ago. No time, you know, and I find I am physically unfit 
for them at this elevation.” 

“Your friend looks as if he ought to be able to knock 
’em about a bit,” Mr. Edwards put in, nodding affably in 
the direction of Ryan. 

Ryan had not opened his mouth to speak since they sat 
down, but he felt the time had arrived. 

“ I don’t play tennis,” he said, and his deep voice seemed 
to fill the room. “Seems to me a waste of time.” 

“ I suppose you do the professional weight-lifting busi- 
ness,” Mr. Edwards pursued. Evidently he was disposed 
to be friendly. 

“No, I work,” Ryan answered, and relapsed into silence. 

“Of course we all work,” Ethel put in brightly. She 
prided herself on being a good conversationalist, which 
meant that she talked a lot. There are so many people 
who confuse quantity with quality, and the babbler is so 
convinced of her own ability as a conversationalist, that 
she sometimes deludes the unthinking into agreeing with 
her. 

“I do quite a lot of housework — don’t I, mother? — but 
I like to play afterwards.” 

“Go and look at the shops, and ’ave no end of a gay 
time walking up and down Pritchard Street,” Mr. Edwards 
supplemented. 

“My daughters don’t walk up and down Pritchard 
Street,” Mrs. Harris remarked, and there was more than 
a shade of annoyance in her voice. 

“I should think not,” Ethel seconded indignantly. 

Mr. Edwards was not a little bit abashed. He had 
frequently seen Ethel engaged in this mild form of dissipa- 
tion, but quite understood that she would not care for her 
mother to know everything she did. His was a mind 
eminently adapted to understanding the littleness and petty 
deceits of Ethel. He caught her eye, and winked 
knowingly. 


The Debt 


96 

“I sometimes like to look in the shop windows,” Ethel 
went on. “There are some beautiful pictures now in that 
place by the Square. One that looks just like a skull from 
the distance. But it is really something quite different 
when you get close. I do love good pictures.” 

“ Oh yes, and what about the naughty postcards, 
eh?” Mr. Edwards demanded. “They’re in the same 
window.” 

“ I think they are horrid, and — and I never look at 
them,” Ethel retorted. 

“Of course you don’t ! ” Mr. Edwards said soothingly. 

The faded little man next to her roused himself. 

“They have some really excellent reproductions now- 
adays,” he said, “and quite cheap too. I saw a most 
convincing engraving of ‘ Psyche’s bath,’ and ” 

Ethel looked quite shocked. 

“ Really, Mr. Brown ! ” she exclaimed. 

The faded little man regarded her with something very 
like contempt, and then turned his attention to his dinner. 

The vulgar mind is apt to confuse art and vulgarity, and 
condemns the former because it only understands the latter. 
To the impure all things are impure — except the ones 
which make them laugh. 

There was a somewhat protracted pause. It takes so 
very little to cause an awkward pause at a boarding-house, 
where even the babble of the chatterer has its uses. It 
was Frances who came to the rescue. 

“There was a girl with the same name as yours at 
school with me at Rugby, Mr. Lensford,” she observed. 
“Kitty — Kathleen Lensford.” 

“My niece,” Lensford answered. “My brother pre- 
ferred to stay in England. Being an elder brother, he had 
every right to prefer it — and every convenience. I trust 
Miss Kitty Lensford does me credit.” 

“ She was awfully nice. We were tremendous friends, 
and I still write to her. I remember now she said some- 
thing about an uncle out here, who used to send her 
wonderful presents.” 

“Really? You see, it is so easy to — er — make a splash 
in England from here. Five pounds is nothing in Johan- 
nesburg, but judiciously invested in presents in England 
it makes quite a showing.” 


A Dinner Party 97 

“Five pounds is five pounds, even out here,” Maggie put 
in wistfully. Her salary was eight pounds per month. 

“Or even in Timbuctoo,” Mr. Edwards observed 
cheerfully. 

“No — I fancy the currency is different there,” Lensford 
objected, though as a matter of fact he had the very 
haziest idea as to where Timbuctoo was, or what happened 
there. 

Mr. Edwards was rather taken aback. He was not 
accustomed to his little witticisms being taken seriously. 

“I was only joking, you know,” he explained. 

“Oh, I see! Another joke, eh?” Lensford said, and 
smiled his politest and most engaging smile. 

“ Rather. Timbuctoo is the place where they know how 
to dress to suit the weather, at any rate.” 

He managed to catch Ethel’s eye again, and winked. 
She coloured bashfully, and giggled. 

“ Kitty Lensford could climb trees better than any one 
else in the school,” Frances went on, completely ignoring 
the interruptions. 

“She would,” Lensford assented gravely. “As a family 
we are rather good at doing the things which are either 
of no possible use to us, or which we really ought not 
to do.” 

“So am I,” Frances agreed. “I can ride a horse, and 
skate, and swim.” She sighed a little. “Those are the 
accomplishments which aren’t much use to me here. And 
I am' an awful duffer at typing.” 

“Really, Frances, you mustn’t talk right down the table 
like that,” Mrs. Harris remarked. “Remember you are 
only a child. Manners, Frances, manners ! ” 

Frances coloured hotly, and was evidently about to 
return the answer not calculated to turn away wrath; but 
Lensford interposed. 

“Really, Mrs. Harris,” he said, “it was entirely my 
fault. And I am sure these gentlemen will pardon us. 
It is so delightful to talk of mutual friends in a distant 
country.” 

He smiled at the good lady, and she relented. 

“So long as she doesn’t worry you,” she said. “.She 
is such a chatterbox, once you encourage her, and she 
won’t give any heed when I correct her.” 

H 


The Debt 


98 

The idea of Mrs. Harris indicating the path of good 
manners to Frances struck Lensford as being distinctly 
comic, but he merely smiled politely again, and resumed 
his conversation \vith the offender. 

Mr. Edwards, who was accustomed to leading the table 
talk, addressed Ryan. 

“Up from the country? ” he queried. 

“Yes.” 

“ I see. Pretty green, eh? ” 

There was a subdued titter from the minor secretary, 
but Ryan did not detect the subtlety of the remark. 

“Yes,” he answered again. “We got the rains early 
this year.” 

“Did you, now. I suppose that makes the turmuts 
sprout, and the giddy little lambs gambol. What oh ! for 
the mint sauce and the green peas.” 

Ethel giggled again, and encouraged by this indication 
of applause, Mr. Edwards essayed further flights. 

“Wish I was a giddy little lamb,” he said. “Nothing 
to do except stand on your ’ind legs and frisk. Don’t you 
think I should look rather nice standing on my ’ind legs 
and frisking. Miss ’Arris?” 

“I should think you’d look very comical,” Ethel 
answered. 

“Quite idiotic,” Frances supplemented. 

“I wonder if you were a lamb in a former existence,” 
Douglas remarked thoughtfully. Mr. Edwards had never 
liked Douglas, and the latter not only did not mind, but 
seemed to derive a certain amount of amusement from the 
veiled hostility. 

“I dare say you were a goat,” Mr. Edwards retorted. 

“ I shouldn’t be surprised. Even now I seem to have 
a most excellent digestion.” 

Mrs. Harris interposed. She always feared an explo- 
sion between these two of her guests, and she did not 
relish the idea of losing either of them. 

“ I hope Maggie is giving you every satisfaction down 
at the office, Mr. Lensford,” she said. 

Lensford positively squirmed. The crudeness of the 
remark was bad enough, and he had a horror of “ shop ” 
in any shape or form. It reminded him too much of the 
men he met in the course of business. 


A Dinner Party 99 

“Really, Mrs. Harris,” he replied, “1 couldn’t think 
of discussing office secrets at table.” 

“Another unsolicited testimonial gone in,” Mr. Edwards 
remarked parenthetically. 

“Quite right too,” Mrs. Harris assented, glaring at Mr. 
Edwards, but otherwise not noticing his witticism. “Just 
because a girl has to work for her living, there is no call 
to remember it out of office hours.” 

“Not the least,” Lensford agreed. 

“ A lady is a lad v even if she does have to her own 
living,' Mrs. Harris went on. “And some of them as 
Wryrfrs are a lot better than othexs^w ho don ’t. More shame 
to them.” 

This cryptic utterance apparently calling for no reply, 
and the meal having reached that stage when the guests 
rose one by one to take their coffee on to the stoep. Lens- 
ford looked across at Ryan and nodded in the direction of 
the door. . Ryan rose immediately, and with a few polite 
words Lensford followed him. When the rest of the men 
had left the room, Mrs. Harris turned to Maggie with her 
most amiable smile. 

“A very nice young man too, Maggie,” she said. “I’ve 
heard a lot about this Mr. Lensford, but this is the first 
time I’ve met him. He kept on looking at you too.” 

Maggie was horrified. 

“Oh, mother, I wish you wouldn’t always think things 
like that,” she said. 

“And why not?” the old lady demanded. “You’ll 
marry sooner or later, and it’s high time you had a young 
man.” 

“But Mr. Lensford! He’s miles and miles too good 
for me, and he’s one of the heads of the firm.” 

“And what difference does that make, pray? Let me 
tell you, miss, I’m every bit as good as your Mr. Lensford. 
When your father was here, and we had money, we used 
to go about everywhere, and I dare say we knew some 
people that your Mr. Lensford wouldn’t have a chance of 
knowing. Too good, indeed ! Who is he, I should like 
to know. I don’t suppose he’s making much more than 
Mr. Edwards, and Mr. Edwards doesn’t give himself 
airs.” 

Apparently Mrs. Harris’s views concerning Lensford 
H 2 


lOO 


The Debt 


were of a somewhat paradoxical variety ; or possibly she 
resented his being too good for her daughter. 

“I’m perfectly sure he only came to make Mr. Ryan feel 
more at home,” Frances said, thereby showing that she 
possessed far more acumen than her stepmother. 

Mrs. Harris laughed shrilly. 

“Oh, you needn’t think you’ve got any chance,” she 
said coarsely. “Turned your head just because you knew 
his niece in England. You can have as many sweethearts 
as you like, my girl, but don’t you start interfering with 
your sisters.” 

Frances rose from the table, and slowly walked to the 
door. 

“You’re very vulgar . . . stepmother,” she said coldly, 
and discreetly vanished. 

“She’s jealous,” Ethel explained. Being of a morbidly 
jealous nature herself, Ethel naturally supposed others to 
be similarly afflicted; and she had felt a momentary pang 
at the thought of the possibility that Maggie might catch 
Lensford, for the latter was even more important than 
Feinbaum. 

Ethel desired frantically to marry, but she did not wish 
to marry any one in particular. One man was as good as 
another, so far as she was concerned, and she could easily 
have made herself sufficiently fond of Lensford to accept 
him had he seemed impressed by her. She craved admira- 
tion, and she strongly resented not receiving it. If a man 
took any notice of her, she thought very highly of his 
intelligence. Otherwise she deemed him stupid and un- 
interesting. Possibly her own nature was so shallow that 
she dared not face the ordeal and tedium of her own 
thoughts, and so was forced to rely solely on others. 

“Just wait till I catch her,” Mrs. Harris remarked furi- 
ously. “Of course she’s jealous! But if you only give 
him a little encouragement, Maggie, I feel pretty certain 
you’ll attract Mr. Lensford.” 

“But I don’t care for him,” Maggie protested. 

“What does that matter? You can soon learn to care 
for him if he marries you. It’s a waste of time to care 
for a man who doesn’t marry you.” 

Ethel laughed sourly. 

“You’re utterly wrong there, mother,” she said. “I’m 


lOI 


A Dinner Party 

sure Lensford doesn’t care a brass farthing- for Maggie. 
Why should he? Mr. Feinbaum says he hates women — at 
least, nice women. And I think he looked at me more than 
he did at Maggie. Don’t you? ” 

“No,” Mrs. Harris replied, with much decision. 
“You’re not the sort of girl to attract him, Ethel. He 
wants a girl with some spirit, and you’re such a foolish 
child. Why, you won’t even trouble to make yourself 
look nice when you know Mr. Feinbaum is coming.” 

Ethel tossed her head. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t go out of my way for any man,” she 
said. 

As a matter of fact she was particularly careful to be 
arrayed in gorgeous raiment when there was any likelihood 
of either Mr. Feinbaum or any other male seeing her. But 
she always protested her intention of not changing, and 
always made such ingenious excuses for doing so in time, 
that her mother had come to believe her. To be perfectly 
truthful, Ethel frequently was far better posted as to the 
possible appearance of Mr. Feinbaum than was her mother, 
and so could make her preparations without exciting com- 
ment. It was the sort of petty deceit she loved, for her 
nature was essentially secretive. 

“If you don’t go out of your way for any man, you’ll 
find no man will go out of his way for you,” Mrs. Harris 
replied, thereby showing that at least she had a very 
considerable knowledge of the world. 

“But you always dress when you know Mr. Feinbaum 
is coming,” Maggie said. “You know you do, Ethel. 
And you’re jolly careful never to let any one see you unless 
you are ready for them.” 

“No I don’t,” Ethel said heatedly. “It’s just the sort 
of thing you would do, though. You’re always running 
after men, and you know it.” 

Without Frances to assist her, Maggie was hopelessly 
outclassed in the argument which followed, and which 
ended in her being sent to her room for being rude to her 
elder sister. If the argument did not end that way, Ethel 
had a habit of bursting into tears, when the desired result 
was speedily brought about. 

And in the meantime Lensford had hurried Ryan away 
from the house, and had hailed a cab to take them to town. 


102 


The Debt 


“Dear Lord, what a mob,” he said, when they were 
comfortably seated. “ If you stick that for a week, and 
don’t yearn to get back to the wilds, then am I a fool 
indeed. The old lady is a vulgar and autocratic old swash- 
buckler, and her daughters are gigglers. Keep an eye 
on the tall one, Ryan, for she could be dangerous. Did 
you notice how she always avoided looking straight at 
you? The third one — the stepdaughter — is the only one 
with any intelligence.” 

“But — but the other one is very kind,” Ryan protested. 
“The one that works in the office.” 

“Oh, she’s a decent enough little girl, but no brain. 
Between ourselves, her typing is enough to drive one into 
an early grave; but I dare say she’s as intelligent as most 
of her kind. And the men ! Edwards an utter bounder, 
Douglas a good sort, and the rest of no importance 
whatever.” 

“ I think I shall like that Mr. Douglas,” Ryan remarked. 

“Do. But if I’m not very much mistaken the other 
chap will lead you a bit of a dance. However, it’s all 
education, and that’s what you are here for. And you can 
always appeal to me in any way you like.” 

“You didn’t enjoy the dinner, then? ” 

** Enjoy it ! My dear chap, I’ve heard a lot about board- 
ing-houses, but this is my first experience of one — and I 
can give you my sacred word of honour that it will be 
my last. I’m beginning to understand why fellows marry 
here. Hitherto it has been utterly incomprehensible to me.” 

“I didn’t enjoy it much myself, either,” Ryan con- 
fessed. “ But I think the one girl — Miss Maggie — is very 
kind and very pretty.” 

Lensford looked searchingly at him, and then shrugged 
his shoulders. 

“We’ll go to the Empire,” he said shortly. 


CHAPTER X 


A CONSPIRACY 

At the end of three weeks Lensford admitted that he 
had been wrong in his estimate of Ryan’s character. 
Ryan had taken to the work at the store in the most 
natural manner possible, and did not seem to find it in 
the least irksome. Between him and the little Cockney 
storeman a very real friendship had sprung up, based on 
mutual esteem, and they worked together in perfect har- 
mony. Ryan had asserted himself to some purpose in the 
stables, and the produce merchants no longer visited 
Heindrik, which was much to the liking of Jenkins. It 
was significant that they did not make any extravagant 
overtures of friendship towards Ryan, but went direct to 
the fountain head, and begged Jenkins to favour them with 
his esteemed patronage. This arrangement suited Ryan 
perfectly, for he felt that he was out of his element when 
trying to do a deal, as it were; and it never occurred to 
him to think of any subterranean commissions which 
might have come his way had he chosen to assert himself. 
The arrangement also suited Jenkins perfectly, for he 
loved bargaining and indicating his authority, and it would 
have been a very shrewd man indeed who could have 
taught him anything about subterranean commissions. 
Jenkins’s motto was to make a bit when he saw half a 
chance — honestly if possible, but anyhow make it; and he 
had the courage of his convictions to a very marked 
degree. 

In the evenings Lensford would frequently chaperon his 
friend to whatever entertainments might be happening. 
In his new and immaculate dress suit Ryan presented a 
most distinguished appearance, and the tales which were 
whispered about him grew to quite large dimensions. 
Lensford was quietly amused when he heard that his 
prot^g6 was variously regarded as the son of one of the 

103 


The Debt 


104 

wealthiest farmers in the Cape Colony, as a man of means 
who had decided to work in Johannesburg to gain experi- 
ence, and as one who was temporarily down on his luck, 
but might be expected to achieve riches at almost any 
moment. That is, he was quietly amused for the first 
couple of weeks; but thereafter he began to have vague 
misgivings. He had introduced Ryan to his friends, had 
made himself in a measure responsible for him ; and so 
far as he could see the responsibility was not likely to end 
in a few weeks, as he had so definitely decided. 

At the boarding-house Ryan’s popularity was assured 
because he said so little. The whispered tales had even 
reached the house of Harris, and he was regarded with 
as much favour as might have been expected by the 
mother of two, or possibly three, marriageable daughters. 
His behaviour really left very little to be desired, for he 
had a memory of great tenacity, and was as adaptable 
as those men who have had to depend solely on themselves 
usually are. Moreover, his sins, such as they were, were 
mainly sins of omission, and these are so easy to forgive. 
Always he watched Lensford, when the latter took him 
about, and modelled his manners on those of the excellent 
example he was thus enabled to study. His awkwardness 
and bashfulness gradually fell away from him to a great 
extent, and at the end of three weeks there was very little 
about him to indicate that he was experiencing for the 
first time the bustle and superficial polish of life in town. 

But though he was not aware of the fact, he was a 
veritable centre of dissension at Edendale. His obvious 
deference to Maggie roused all the jealous instincts of 
Ethel, and when the tales of his possible wealth had 
reached the house her chagrin knew no bounds. Of all 
the men there he was the most desirable, and — he took 
no notice of her ! What if she was popularly supposed to 
be, so to speak, the property of Mr. Feinbaum? What 
if she did encourage this idea on every possible occasion? 
Mr. Feinbaum was only available at rare intervals, and 
when he was not present Ethel felt the desire for admira- 
tion from other men. True, Mr. Edwards was always 
willing to talk and joke with her, but then Mr. Edwards 
was not keen on Maggie, and so was not entirely desirable. 
Ethel could only adequately appreciate those favours 


A Conspiracy 105 

which she thought she was stealing from some other girl. 
There are many Ethels in the world. 

She annoyed her sister by every means in her power, 
and Ethel was distinctly good at annoying. Pin-pricks — 
only pin-pricks ; but of all hurts those are the hardest to 
combat, and the pain of them is very real. Maggie was 
reported to her mother for various mild misdemeanours, 
for Ethel had never outgrown her childish weaknesses, 
and was what her schoolmates termed a sneak. Mrs. 
Harris was not wont to deal kindly with any transgression 
which was brought to her notice, and recked nothing as 
to how her information was acquired. But Maggie 
escaped to a certain extent because of Ryan’s attentions. 
Mrs. Harris felt a very real respect for success of any 
kind, and it seemed possible that Maggie would be 
successful. 

As for Maggie herself, she felt that she had a grievance. 
Hers was essentially a shallow nature, but her inclinations 
were good enough. Brought up in a house where it was 
obviously good policy at least to disguise the truth, her 
relative notions of right and wrong had suffered consider- 
ably. She had become so accustomed to being punished 
for some entirely imaginary fault, merely because she had 
offended her sister in some way, and the sister had chosen 
the surest means of revenging herself by lying to her 
mother, that she had developed the habit of lying in self- 
defence. Unlike Ethel, she did not lie for the sake of 
lying. Ethel would deceive her mother when there was 
really no need, because deceit was a habit of hers ; but 
Maggie only lied at the stern decree of necessity. If her 
mother would believe Ethel’s lie, and so punish her, the 
obvious thing for her to do was to lie a little better. 

But the return of Frances from England had opened 
Maggie’s eyes to the real ethics of the matter, and since 
her instincts were good, she revelled in the unaccustomed 
luxury of acting up to them. Frances utterly despised 
Ethel, with her mean and petty ways, her spiteful jealousy, 
and her habit of bursting into tears if by so doing she 
could cause further mischief ; and it was a relief to Maggie 
to find some one who estimated the character of her elder 
sister at its real worth. Maggie was accustomed to being- 
looked down upon, for Ethel not only insisted on being 


io6 


The Debt 


regarded as the sole member of the family worthy of 
consideration or attention, but bitterly resented it if 
Maggie received a passing word of greeting or approba- 
tion. And, as is the way of the world, people in general, 
and her own mother in particular, had come to accept 
Ethel at her own valuation. 

Maggie was undoubtedly fond of Ryan, though it would 
have been folly to say she loved him. Had Ryan proposed 
to her she would quite possibly have thought she loved 
him, for she was not in the habit of analysing her feelings, 
and was liable to be swept off her feet by a passing 
emotion. She admired him for his quiet strength, and his 
deference to her, and perhaps a little because of his in- 
difference to Ethel. And she could see that she attracted 
him, which she thought a very wonderful and delightful 
thing. She was nearly twenty, and her mother had often 
urged upon her the desirability of acquiring a young man ; 
yet when she achieved the purpose, she was subjected to 
even more persecution than usual at the hands of Ethel. 
It was unfair. 

So she thought petulantly after each fresh pin-prick, 
and it is possible that without the moral support of 
Frances she would have taken an early opportunity of 
showing Ryan that his attentions were undesirable, as an 
easy way out of her difficulties. She was very prone to 
take the line of least resistance, and she knew perfectly 
well that her elder sister only acted as she did out of 
jealousy. In her own mean-spirited, underhand way 
Ethel was distinctly clever, and she very nearly suc- 
ceeded in nipping the incipient affair in the bud. It was 
not that she desired Ryan for herself, but that she objected 
to her younger sister possessing him ; and therefore she 
quietly pitted herself against Maggie, as she had done 
since they were children. Hitherto she had been almost 
invariably successful, but this time Maggie had Frances 
to fall back on, and that made all the difference. 

But Ethel had one very powerful and very dangerous 
ally, who was all the more capable of helping her because 
his antagonism was unsuspected. This was Feinbaum. 
Feinbaum was not the sort of man to forget a grievance, 
and he had never forgiven Ryan for that incident at the 
store. Moreover, he had hated Lfensford these many years 


A Conspiracy 107 

— hated him for his easy, polished manners, his affability, 
the cut of his clothes and his popularity everywhere. 
Hated him because he was received as a friend by many 
men who only tolerated Feinbaum. And Ryan was a 
proteg6 of Lensford’s. Feinbaum was far too clever a 
man to show his hand, and he always kept up a pretence 
of friendship towards Lensford. But his lack of education 
handicapped him, and he was apt to overact the part. 

Feinbaum had absolutely no serious intentions as 
regarded Ethel. He looked upon her as a very foolish, 
very babyish, and rather aggravating young woman ; but 
she amused him. It tickled his intense egotism to notice 
the way she would fuss over him when he condescended 
to call on her ; he derived quite a lot of entertainment 
from experimenting upon her emotions, for he had 
summed her up correctly from the first. By working upon 
her jealousy he could bend her to his slightest wish, and 
he loved to prove his power. There were times when she 
wept bitterly at his callousness, wept real tears which she 
was quite unable to repress ; but they were entirely with- 
out effect on Feinbaum. He would listen while she reviled 
or implored him, and would then perhaps stay away for a 
couple of weeks to indicate his absolute independence. To 
him the fortnight’s absence was nothing, but to her it was 
a time of torture. She had hinted to so many of her 
friends of her power over him, and of their imminent 
engagement, and she dreaded the veiled sneers and in- 
solent sympathy of those same friends. She was morbidly 
sensitive to slights of this description, and in her heart 
of hearts she knew that she had had no grounds for 
supposing that Feinbaum really intended to marry her. 
Consequently he would find her very subdued and humble 
when he called again. 

He very soon noticed how jealous she was of Maggie, 
and though he himself cared not a jot if she encouraged 
other men, he thought she might possibly be of some use 
to him in annoying Ryan. The latter had been in the 
house nearly three weeks when Feinbaum called one after- 
noon and saw Ethel alone in the drawing-room. 

“And how goes your little affair with our second store- 
man?” he queried by way of greeting. 

Ethel had closed the door carefully behind her, and was 


io8 


The Debt 


advancing with hands outstretched, begging for the cus- 
tomary and clandestine salute. She stopped short when 
he spoke, and a wave of colour flooded her usually pale 
face. 

“What do you mean?” she demanded. 

“Why, your little love alfair with that chap Ryan,” 
he explained, with brutal directness. 

“Rudolf — how can you,” she said, and the tears were 
very near the surface. 

“Oh, I heard he was very gone on one of the girls 
here,” he answered indifferently. 

Ethel cheered up immediately. 

“Oh, that!” she said. “Maggie is quite silly about 
him, you know. Loves to talk to him, and fusses round 
him even when we are all there. It must make him feel 
such a silly.” 

Feinbaum smiled slightly. He recollected his own feel- 
ings on one or two occasions when Ethel had plainly 
indicated a proprietary interest in him when others were 
present. 

“Of course I know all about that,” he said, “but it 
wasn’t what I meant. Why can’t you leave her alone?” 

She sat dov/n limply. It frequently seemed to her that 
Feinbaum could read her inmost thoughts with uncanny 
correctness, and she was afraid of him. 

“Don’t be so unkind, Rudolf,” she wailed. 

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he assured her brutally. “But it 
seems to me so dashed funny that if you don’t want him 
for yourself you should try to queer Maggie’s pitch.” 

“I don’t ” she began angrily. 

“Yes, you do,” he persisted quite calmly. “What’s the 
good of trying to bluff me, Ethel? I know that as soon 
as I’m out of the way you want somebody else to make a 
fuss of you. You’re born that way. And now you’re 
going to cry ! Tell me when you’ve finished, and I’ll go 
on talking.” 

He drew a cigarette-case from his waistcoat pocket and 
proceeded to smoke. Ethel wrestled with her tears and 
her dignity for a few moments, and then capitulated. 

“Why are you so unkind, Rudolf? ” she asked. “You 
know how fond of you I am, and that I never look at 
another man 


A Conspiracy 1 09 

“While I’m here,” he put in. “Go on.” 

Ethel raised her handkerchief again, and he shrugged 
his shoulders impatiently. 

“Maggie’s got about ten times as much spirit as you 
have,” he said, and the shot went home at once. 

“ Oh, has she ! ” Ethel retorted with quite as much spirit 
as Maggie presumably possessed. “I suppose she’s been 
saying things about me now. She’s always doing things 
like that, and it’s just because she’s jealous. What did 
she say? ” 

“Nothing. To do her justice, Maggie never tells tales. 
And especially she wouldn’t tell tales to me. She does 
not like me.” 

Ethel laughed derisively. 

“ Oh, of course that’s what you’d say,” she said. “ How 
do I know what goes on down at the office? You see her 
every day, and talk to her, and joke with her ; and you 
only come here once in a blue moon.” 

“That’s much better,” Feinbaum assured her. “I like 
a little spirit, and I thought that would hit you up. Mind 
you, I’m not saying for a minute that I shouldn’t have a 
good time with Maggie, if I felt that way; but I don’t. 
As a matter of fact I don’t like Maggie. She has been 
rude to me once or twice. I said I would drive her home 
the other evening, and she refused.” 

“ You wanted to take her out ” Ethel began. 

“ I wanted to come here, so thought I might as well 
give her a lift. After all, she’s your sister. But the main 
thing is that she refused. Refused in a way I did not 
altogether like, too.” 

“ She has no manners. I have told her again and again 
that she mustn’t be rude to you.” 

“It’s very kind of you. Now look here, Ethel, it isn’t 
a bit of good trying that pose with me. You know that 
you prefer Maggie to be rude to me, and I know ; so why 
pretend? Now don’t start weeping again, or I’ll clear 
out at once. You want her to be rude to me because 
you’re afraid I might like her too much. Seeing that you 
think I’m going to marry you, it’s a nice sort of feeling 
to have about your own sister, but we won’t worry about 
that. The main thing is that I hate her, Ethel. Do you 
hear? — hate her. She’s snubbed me lots of times, and 


no 


The Debt 


I’d give anything to take her down a peg or two. And I 
want you to help me.” 

“Me? ” 

“ Yes, you.” 

He watched her for a few moments without speaking, 
and smiled at what he saw. 

“ I really think it would be good for her,” he added. 

Ethel jumped at the chance. 

“Perhaps it would,” she answered, speaking rather 
hurriedly. “She’s very rude to me sometimes, and to 
mother. And since this Mr. Ryan has taken her up there 
is no doing anything with her. It wasn’t so bad before 
Frances came out, but now the two of them are always 
talking secrets together, and won’t tell me; and they help 
each other, and — and don’t take any notice when I speak 
to them. I think Frances wants a lesson almost more 
than Maggie.” 

Feinbaum smiled a rather twisted smile. He had 
already clashed with Frances on one or two occasions, and 
he was vaguely afraid of her. There was something so 
honest and straightforward about her, and it was there- 
fore only natural that he could not understand her in the 
least. 

“We’ll leave Frances out of it,” he said drily. 

“ Perhaps you are right. After all, it is Maggie who 
was rude to you. If I can help, so as to make her more 
polite to all of us, it might do her all the good in the world, 
mightn’t it? ” 

“Of course it would. You can be jolly clever when you 
like, Ethel.” 

He crossed the room, and kissed her in a perfunctory 
manner on the cheek. She threw her arms round his 
neck, and held him close for a few moments. 

“Then you do love me — only me?” she demanded at 
last. 

He straightened his tie before the glass, and nodded. 

“Of course I do,” he said. “Only you mustn’t be so 
infernally silly. Any one would think you were a kid of 
ten the way you go on about nothing. I’m not jealous 
when you carry on with those other fellows. Edwards 
and the rest of them. But you can be no end of a help 
when you feel that way. Now how do you think would 


A Conspiracy 1 1 1 

be the best way for taking Maggie down a peg or 
two? ” 

Having already made up his mind on the subject, he 
was not much interested in the tentative proposals Ethel 
made. 

“The best way would be to get at her through that 
chap Ryan,” he said at last. “Don’t you think so? ” 

Ethel did think so. She would have given anything to 
see that affair nipped in the bud. 

“I can’t quite make him out,” Feinbaum went on. 
“There’s something fishy about the whole business, and 
once I can find out where he comes from. I’ll have a few 
inquiries made. It’s dashed funny that nobody seems to 
have the faintest idea where his old man lives, and when I 
ask him he just smiles, and says ‘ In the Colony,’ or some- 
thing foolish like that.” 

“Then don’t you think he’s really rich? ” Ethel asked. 

“Not much. Would he work for us if he was? And I 
never believe in anybody’s money till I’ve seen their bank 
balance. There’s a dashed sight too much of that sort of 
thing in Johannesburg. I dare say I could buy him up 
three times over, and not be much worse off.” 

Ethel heaved a sigh of relief. After all it seemed that 
she w^as to enjoy a triumph — and such a triumph ! 

“But what shall I do?” she demanded. 

“Just keep on worrying them like you are. Oh, I know 
all about it, and I don’t blame you a bit. It must be 
dashed annoying when a chap keeps making eyes at your 
young sister, and doesn’t even trouble to be polite to you. 
Only don’t try to pretend to me any more.” 

She was looking at him as though fascinated. What a 
man he was, to be able to know just how she felt like that. 
And he was so clever and just — he quite understood that it 
was natural for her to feel as she did. So few people 
really understood her, and yet she knew she was right. 

“Rudolf — my Rudolf — I’ll never deceive you in the 
least little thing again,” she said. 

“I shouldn’t, if I was you,” he replied. “It doesn’t 
pay. I’ll fossick round a bit, and when I get hold of 
anything that’s likely to help us. I’ll let you know. Only 
don’t mess it up by being too obvious. Pretend to Maggie 
that you want her to marry the chap. If she can make 


1 12 


The Debt 


him propose, it will be all the nastier smack for her when 
we upset the whole show. And we could do that at any 
time.” 

“But how?” 

Feinbaum laughed sourly. 

“ By getting her to come out with me once or twice. 
That chap Ryan is not the kind to put up with any non- 
sense, and you can bet he’s bpen hearing some pretty tall 
tales about me from Lensford.” 

Ethel had also heard some pretty tall tales about Fein- 
baum from various sources, which possibly explained her 
anxiety when he stayed away for a week or two. 

“I don’t want you to go out with Maggie,” she said 
slowly. 

“There you go again!” he exclaimed. “Jealousy, 
jealousy all the time. I’ve a jolly good mind to clear right 
off and never come near you again. Can’t you see that I 
only want to take her down a peg or two? ” 

“But — but will you really marry me if I help you?” 
Ethel asked, and there was a very real anxiety in her voice. 

Feinbaum shrugged his shoulders again. 

“You can bet your life I won’t if you don’t help me,” 
he replied savagely. 

Ethel surrendered, as she always did when Feinbaum 
spoke to her like that. Thereafter he thawed completely, 
and they had a most enjoyable hour to themselves before 
he said he must be getting back to town. 

Outside the house he perched his hat jauntily a little 
on one side, and smiled knowingly as he walked down the 
street. 

“And now, my dear Maggie,” he murmured, “we shall 
see if you can’t be induced to come out with me when I 
ask you. And Ethel helping me ! Lord, but it’s funny. 
You are very much more attractive than your sister, my 
stuck-up little Maggie, and — we shall see.” 


CHAPTER XI 


“timeo danaos ” 

“ ’Ere, Ryan, come and see if you can make this ’arf- 
baked nigger understand. I told ’im as plain as possible 
not to shift any of those grease drums into No. 2 shed, and 
look wot ’e’s bin an’ gone an’ done ! ’Ere, you grinning 
Cheshire cat, didn’t I tell you to ikona move lo blooming 
drums? ” 

“What is it that’s wanted? ’’ Ryan asked, coming round 
from seeing to the stacking of a consignment of corrugated 
iron. 

“ I want ’im to cart the paint into No. 2 shed, but leave 
the bloomin’ grease ’ere. ’E can’t make any mistake if 
you tell ’im properly, because the grease drums are twice 
as big as the others. Tell ’im to get a jerk on, for it’s 
after eleven now, and dear old Feinbaum will be down by 
about ’arf-past twelve. This is Saturday.” 

Ryan briefly told the boy what to do, and then sat down 
on a convenient case and produced his pipe. Jenkins, who 
was wrestling with the entries in his store book, eyed him 
with a certain amouht of hostility. 

“Don’t you go workin’ too ’ard, Ryan,” he counselled, 
“or you’ll be going down with brain fever.” 

“There’s nothing to do at the moment,” Ryan replied. 
“If there was. I’d do it.” 

“Oh, you’re orlright,” Jenkins admitted. “Seeing as 
you’ve only bin ’ere a matter of four weeks or so, you do 
middlin’ well. It’s these ’ere books what gets me. If you 
only knew as much about books as you do about ’orses, 
for instance, everything in the garden would be lovely. 
But as it is ” — he scratched his head, and then went on in 
an unusual burst of candour — “it seems to me that the only 
department which you don’t touch is the one I get tied up 
with.” 


I 


13 


The Debt 


114 

He figured for a time in silence, and then looked up 
with a frown on his narrow face. 

“ ’Ow many of those drums of grease can you count? ” 
he demanded. 

Ryan ran his eye up and down the regularly stacked 
drums by the far wall, and figured on the packing-case. 

“One, one, six,” he said. 

“And one-one-six is right, as I ’appen to know,” Jen- 
kins said in injured tones. “Now this bloomin’ book says 
as ’ow there are two-one-six. You say one-one-six, and 
I say one-one-six, and I know one-one-six is right ; yet old 
Feinbaum would go by the bally book every time; and 
’e’s bin asking about that grease.” 

Ryan walked over and examined the entries. He had 
the very vaguest ideas about book-keeping, but it was a 
fairly easy matter to glance the figures indicating 
the number of drums which had been received into the 
store, and the number which had been subsequently sent 
out. 

“She tallies all right, don’t she?” Jenkins asked. 

Ryan slowly and methodically added the totals, and 
nodded. 

“ Of course she does ! ’Ere, git out of it, and let me 
’ave another cut at ’er.” 

There was another lengthy pause, and then Jenkins 
slapped his leg and announced that he was past redemption. 

“Come and kick me, Ryan,” he begged. “It’s this 
bloomin’ ’undred from Mosenstein last week. I killed a 
fly after I’d written in the figger, an’ ’e squadged right 
over it. So I put it down again alongside. D’you see? 
The bloomin’ fly ’as dried up now, and more or less dis- 
appeared, so the first figger shows up quite plain. We’ll 
soon fix ’er up now.” 

He ran his pen through the entry which had previously 
accommodated the slaughtered fly, and sat back with a 
sigh of relief. 

“Well, that’s a good job,” he remarked cheerfully. “I 
didn’t want old Feinbaum to ’ave a chanst of ’auling me 
over the coals. Between you and me, ’e’s got ’is knife 
into me, and ’e’s keepin’ ’is eyes on me pretty frequent. 
And, so far as that goes, I’m keeping an eye on 
’im as well. I could tell you one or two things about 


“ Timeo Danaos — ” 


115 

old Feinbaum as ’ud surprise you quite a lot. ’E’s 
a downy bird, ’e is. Ever see any of ’is Kaffir pay- 
sheets?” 

“ No. He keeps them in that private office of his, 
doesn’t he? ” 

Jenkins chuckled, and winked knowingly. 

“Come to that, I suppose ’e does,” he answered. “But 
there’s more than one way of killing a pig. Well, I seen 
some of his sheets, and they made me smile. I used to 
do a bit of that sort of thing before ’e took over, but ’e 
goes the ’ole ’og.” 

“What sort of thing?” Ryan asked. 

“Why, putting down boys as isn’t there. Bob, and 
Tom, and Charlie, and Sixpence, and so on. ’Go’s to 
know? If ’e draws a quid for Bob, and there ain’t no 
Bob, it’s a quid clear profit, ain’t it? ” 

“It’s a dirty trick,” Ryan said slowly. 

“O’ course it is! And ’im a partner in the firm, and 
making about twice as much as you and me put together. 
Some people want the earth, they do.” 

Apparently Jenkins had forgotten his admission as to 
what used to happen when he had charge of the pay-sheets. 
Or possibly he considered the relative positions more than 
absolved him from all blame. 

“And that ain’t the only thing ’e does,” he went on. 
“ ’E fines the boys — fines them ’eavy, — for all sorts of 
things, and I reckon e’ makes a bit that way. Once w’en 
I was at the office, waiting to see old Strauss, I was 
talkin’ to that narrer-gutted chap with specs what keeps 
the books. I got ’im to show me the account for wages, 
and tell me about it ; and I found that only once i;n a 
pretty long while did old Feinbaum return any of the 
money, once ’e’d got ’is ’ooks on to it. I tell you, that 
made me think a bit. I didn’t say nothink, but I sort of 
chalked it up against the time when Feinbaum tries to 
bounce me.” 

“ But if you think he is doing that ” Ryan began. 

“Oh, it ain’t my money,” Jenkins said indifferently. 
“ ’E keeps pounds and pounds in the drawer of that little 
safe in ’is office, ’e does.” 

He seemed about to say something further, but after 
looking shrewdly at Ryan, changed his mind. 


The Debt 


1 16 

“ ’E doesn’t even know ’ow much ’e keeps there,” he 
said instead, and with a fine contempt. 

Ryan was still too unsophisticated to draw any conclu- 
sions from this remark. 

‘‘But if we know this, oughtn’t we to tell somebody? ” 
he asked. 

‘‘Look ’ere, young feller-me-lad, if you want to git on 
in this town, you better learn to keep your mouth shut. 
’Ow could we prove anythink? We don’t even know for 
certain, and a pretty fool I should be if I bumped into one 
of the bosses on spec. You fellers what are too good for 
the world make me tired, I tell you straight. We ain’t 
out ’ere for our ’ealths, and we’d all like to make a bit 
if we got the chanst. I only told you — told you as a pal — 
some of the funny little things as I see going on, but I 
don’t know anythink.” 

He looked at Ryan with a shrewd smile, but there was 
a trace of anxiety in his voice when he spoke again. 

‘‘If you’re one of them honest chaps, I admire you for 
it,” he said, ‘‘and I’m bloomin’ sorry for you. You 
’aven’t a ’ope of making much. But you mustn’t take any 
notice of what I’ve been telling you. I dessay it’s all my 
fancy. Why should old Feinbaum do thinks like that? ” 

‘‘It does seem funny,” Ryan agreed. “He’s one of the 
partners, you see. Mr. Lensford says he’s what they call 
a junior partner.” 

“ Of course ’e is ! I was only joking. I ’ate ’im like 
poison, but I don’t know nothink about ’im. ’Ave you 
finished your pipe? Then take a couple of boys and put 
them on tidying up the forage store. Old Feinbaum ’s 
going to make a tour of inspection w’en ’e comes, and we 
may as well make things pretty. Not but what the blighter 
will grouse, ’owever spick and span we make the place.” 

But for once in a way Jenkins was wrong. Feinbaum 
arrived punctually at half-past twelve, and was evidently 
in the best of humours. Usually he reached the store just 
about one o’clock, and kept Jenkins hanging about on 
some pretext or other long after he should have been away 
at lunch. He looked casually round the big No. i store, 
and appeared to count quickly the drums of grease about 
which he had been making inquiries. Then he turned to 
Jenkins, and spoke to him very pleasantly. 


“ Timeo Danaos — ” 


117 

“It’s quite a treat to come into the place after you’ve 
had a chance to clear up a bit,” he said. “I don’t sup- 
pose there’s another store in town half as neat as this one 
at the present moment.” 

Jenkins was too surprised to do more than gasp. 

“I take it that Ryan is a great help to you,” Feinbaum 
went on. “Well, I always told them you wanted an 
assistant, and advised them to take Ryan as soon as I 
heard about him. Gives you a little more time to attend 
to the minor details, hey? I’ll just put the money in my 
safe before I look at the other stores. Oh, by the way, 
would you chaps care for a cigar? I’ve got some inside.” 

He unlocked the door of his office, and after seeing the 
wages put in the safe, came out again and handed each 
of the storemen a really good cigar. Jenkins surreptitiously 
smelled his, shook it, squeezed it between his thumb and 
first finger, and then put it in his pocket. 

“And I just want to have a word with you, Ryan,” 
Feinbaum went on, when Ryan had lit his cigar. 

They walked away together towards the upper end of 
the store, and Feinbaum patted Ryan on the back in the 
most friendly way. He was rather fond of patting people 
on the back. 

“You mustn’t think me interfering,” he began, “but 
Tve taken a fancy to you, Ryan. Now, I’ve known Mrs. 
Harris and her girls for quite a number of years — knew 
Harris himself very well — and of course they tell me all 
that happens. Do you know you’ve quite turned the head 
of one of the girls? ” 

Ryan coloured vividly. 

“What do you mean? ” he stammered. 

“Oh, I won’t mention any names, and if you have no 
serious intentions I should be the last man to interfere in 
any way. But there it is. You strong, quiet fellows 
always get on with girls far better than you think, and 
I can quite understand that you haven’t noticed anything 
in particular. If you have any thoughts about getting 
married — and, after all, marriage is the only life up here ” 
— Feinbaum was, of course, unmarried — “I am quite con- 
fident that — er — success would attend any attempt in one 
direction. Don’t rush it, but just think over what I have 
' said. And if there is anything I can possibly do for you. 


The Debt 


1 18 

I shall be only too glad to do it. I regard myself as the 
best friend the Harris family possesses in Johannesburg, 
and anybody who is a friend of theirs is a friend of mine, 
no matter who or what he may be. I might be very 
useful to you.” 

Ryan’s thoughts were in a whirl. He had certainly 
thought a good deal about Maggie, and was very fond 
of her; but it had never occurred to him that she might 
care for him other than as an acquaintance. It is very 
true that love begets love, and he felt a very marked 
tenderness for her when he heard that she liked him. It 
never occurred to him to doubt Feinbaum in any way. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he said at length. 

“Of course you don’t! It must be dashed awkward 
for you, and I wouldn’t have said anything if it hadn’t 
seemed to me that perhaps I should be doing you a very 
real service. For heaven’s sake don’t ever breathe a word 
of this at the house. Poor little Mag — , the girl who cares 
for you, would die of shame if she knew her dear little 
secret had been discovered by me. Possibly you can 
imagine how I came to learn it. Just go on as you are, 
and watch to see if you don’t think I am right. Mind 
you, if you have no serious intentions, don’t let me 
influence you in any way. But keep your eyes open, and — 
well, if anything does happen, let me be one of the first 
to congratulate you.” 

He patted Ryan kindly again, and, without waiting for 
any answer, walked back to Jenkins, and proceeded with 
him to inspect the other stores. 

The whole business only took a quarter of an hour, and 
then Feinbaum left them, and went back to town to have 
lunch. He was very pleased with himself, and chuckled 
gleefully as his car raced towards town. 

“What a fool!” he murmured. “And how he bit! 
Once he is engaged to Maggie, she can have no sort of 
hold on me if she chooses to be a little fool. And with 
Ethel to help, I really think she will decide to — to be a 
little fool occasionally. Moreover, if she doesn’t, I shall 
see that she loses her billet. Lord, how easy it is to 
manage people if only you have a f6w brains.” 

When he had left the store, Jenkins produced his cigar 
again, and regarded it dubiously. 


“ Timeo Danaos — ” 119 

“Now, what’s the matter with ’im? ” he exclaimed. 

“He was in a very good temper,” Ryan observed. He 
was still tremendously disturbed inwardly at the news he 
had heard, but he gave no sign. 

“Good-tempered — ’im ! Don’t make me larf.” 

“But don’t you think we have perhaps been wrong in 
putting him down as such a brute? Perhaps it was only 
his way, or perhaps he has been worried.” 

“Oh, chuck it. You’ve known ’im five minnits, and 
I’ve known the beggar for years. Ask your pal Lensford 
what ’e thinks about ’im.” 

“But why should he trouble to be nice to us? ” 

Jenkins very carefully lit his cigar, and then laid it down 
on the case beside him. It seemed that he rather expected 
the weed to contain an infernal machine. 

“W’en I come to this country,” he observed, “my ’arf 
section was a man what ’ad ’ad a real slap-up eddication. 
I come out at the beginning of the war, you know, and 
was reported dead — shot in action. Well, this chap was 
always slinging foreign talk at us, and there was one thing 
in particular I remember. Of course I forget ’ow the 
thing went in the foreign lingo, but ’e explained it to me. 
It was a long yarn, but it amounted to this, that you ’ad 
to be jolly careful about the Greek chaps if they offered 
to give you an ’orse. From what I seen of the Greeks 
’ere, the only thing they’re likely to give you is a couple 
of over-ripe bananas for which they ’ave no further use, so 
I can get ’old of the meaning of the yarn first-rate. If a 
Greek came and offered me an ’orse, I should kick ’is 
carkus off the premises, and send for the p’lice quick and 
lively, for you can bet your life ’e’d either stole it, or there 
was an ’ave somewhere in the deal. D’you savvy? Now 
why did old Feinbaum give me a cigar, and tell me the 
store was a treat to look at? I wasn’t born yesterday, and 
’e’s got some little game on. What did ’e want with you? 
Offer to lend you a fiver? ” 

Ryan coloured again. 

“No,” he said. “It was quite a personal matter.” 

“ Oh, right you are. Only keep your eye on the blighter. 
W’en ’e gives me the rough edge of ’is tongue, I know 
Just where I am, and I’m used to it. But w’en ’e starts 
on this racket, I want to keep my ’ands tight on my money 


120 


The Debt 


till I see what’s going to ’appen. I can look after myself, 
and you needn’t worry about that; but I like to know 
where I am.” 

“He was very kind to me,” Ryan maintained. 

“ Of course ’e was. Like the Greek chap giving you 
an ’orse, as I’ve told you. ’E’s got religion all of a 
sudden, I don't think. Count your money before you go 
and ’ave a drink with ’im.” 

Further discussion was stopped by the appearance of 
Lensford. He hailed Ryan from the car, but Jenkins was 
the first to respond. He picked up his cigar with an air 
of relief, and approached Lensford. 

“Afternoon, Mr. Lensford,” he said. “You know a lot 
about cigars, don’t you? ” 

“Oh, a fair amount,” Lensford replied. 

“Well, would you be so kind as to tell me just what’s 
the matter with this ’ere one? ” 

Lensford took the cigar with some surprise, but after 
a very brief inspection returned it. 

“ That’s an Upmann Special,” he said. “ What you would 
call a two bob smoke. Where did you find it, Jenkins? ” 

“That’s just it, sir. Mr. Feinbaum ’e guv it to me, 
and I just wondered.” 

“But why?” 

“I was just telling young Ryan ’ere,” Jenkins ex- 
plained confidentially, “ as ’ow a man I knew once, and ’oo 
’ad ’ad a top ’ole eddication, used to sling a foreign 
quotation at me which meant, w’en you boiled it down, 
that you should always keep your eye skinned if a Greek 
chap was to come and offer to give you an ’orse. You 
know ’ow they charges for the fruit, don’t you? Well, 
in the same sort of way, I wondered why Mr. Feinbaum 
guv me that cigar.” 

Lensford could not altogether restrain his amusement, 
though he was not the man to jest with employees about 
a fellow employer. It was rather the anecdote anent the 
Greek and the horse which appealed to him, for he readily 
gathered the true interpretation. 

“I can give you my word that it is a really excellent 
cigar,” he said at last. 

Jenkins was only partially satisfied. 

“Well, I’ll smoke it,” he said, “because I ’ate to see a 


“ Timeo Danaos 


I2I 


?5 


good thing wasted. But there’s something about it which 
I don’t understand.” 

He walked back to the store, and Lensford addressed Ryan. 

“Get in, my dear chap,” he said. “I’ll drive you to 
your place, and, after you’ve changed, we’ll have lunch 
together and then go over to Pretoria. It’s a perfect day 
for a run.” 

Ryan settled himself beside his friend, and was silent for 
a while. Then — 

“Tell me, Mr. Lensford,” he said — even to the end he 
always gave Lensford the courtesy title — “what do you 
know about Mr. Feinbaum?” 

“Well, one doesn’t like to say too much,” Lensford 
replied, “but he’s a dangerous man, and a bounder. 
He’s much worse than a bounder, as a matter of fact. 
Apart from various other objectionable qualities, his ways 
with women are not nice. With women of the world — 
women who have their eyes open, and know what is what 
— anything may be forgiven a man. You know that I am 
a pretty bad character myself, don’t you? But Feinbaum 
— how shall I put it? — hunts among the inexperienced. 
The tales told about him mostly concern young girls — some 
of them very young indeed. I have taken the trouble to 
inquire into one or two incidents, and I believe he gets a 
hold over them in some way. One of our typists had to 
leave because of him. Possibly she was as much to blame 
as he was, but when there is trouble between an employer 
and his typist, one rather wonders whether she was a free 
agent. One of these days he’ll get a few years in gaol, 
as sure as my name’s Lensford. Don’t trust him, Ryan 
— whatever he does or says, don’t trust him. Of course 
this is strictly between ourselves. I should not dream of 
saying this to anybody else.” 

Ryan nodded, but said nothing. He could hardly tell 
Lensford what had occurred at the store, in view of his 
own feelings in the matter; and try as he might, he could 
see no possibility of any ulterior motive in Feinbaum ’s 
action. He really thought it was a spontaneous outburst 
of good feeling, due to the fact that Feinbaum was a 
friend of Maggie’s. During his life in the wilds he had 
met many men who lived almost unspeakable lives, and 
yet there was a very pronounced vein of good in nearly all 


122 


The Debt 


of them. He was fonder of Maggie than he had ever 
admitted to himself, and if she really did care for him, it 
was the best news he could have heard. If not, he was 
no worse off than he had been before. And if Feinbaum 
had any ulterior motive after all, he was more than capable 
of looking after himself. It did not occur to him that he 
might be called upon to look after Maggie also. 

As they were approaching Edendale he made up his 
mind, and turned to Lensford somewhat bashfully. 

“You know those dances you wanted me to come to? ” 
he queried. 

“Yes. Have you made up your mind at last? You’d 
enjoy yourself quite a lot.” 

“ It’s not that. Could I bring a lady, if — if she would 
let me? ” 

“Why, certainly. You’re getting no end of a gay dog, 
Ryan, I’m afraid. Who is she? ” 

“ She’s only a typist ” 

“My dear chap, what does that matter? Here our 
typists are leaders of fashion. Haven’t you noticed how 
many of them go to their offices in garden-party gowns? 
They would have you know that they type for pleasure, 
and the business-like blouse and skirt is quite out of date. 
The typists lend quite a tone to our dances, I assure you. 
It is the — the others who sometimes complicate matters. 
But who is she actually? ” 

“Miss Harris — Miss Maggie.” 

It was the complication which Lensford had been dread- 
ing, and he realised that the game was being taken quite 
out of his hands. But he was not the man to show it. 
And, moreover, he quite understood the futility of oppos- 
ing Ryan’s wishes in the matter. The big man was slow 
to make up his mind, but he was very sure. Lensford felt 
that a marriage between the two was preposterous, for 
their natures were as divergent as the poles. But any 
active opposition on his part would not only do no good, 
but might even do a considerable amount of harm. He had 
said he would be Ryan’s friend, and he would keep his word. 

“ I should be delighted to get you both an invitation any 
time you like,” he said. 

Ryan noticed that he didn’t comment on the matter at 
all, and was grateful. 


CHAPTER XII 


A DANCE 

The average dance in Johannesburg is not calculated to 
rouse much enthusiasm except among the men and women 
who are particularly keen on dancing for dancing’s sake. 
The usual method of procedure is to hire a hall for the 
occasion, and try to disguise its appalling bareness with 
a few palms and other evergreens. Here those victims 
who have willingly or unwillingly paid their guinea for a 
double ticket, trip it to the strains of a frequently excellent 
band, and in the intervals between the dances sit solemnly 
round the bare room, or along equally bare passages, and 
stare at each other. Possibly there are a very few cosy 
corners, which are only known to the initiated; but these 
are so inaccessible as to be regarded as distinctly improper 
by the uninitiated. 

But at the Cecil Hotel conditions are much more desir- 
able, and there is more than enough room for everybody. 
Here the passages have real carpets, instead of linoleum, 
and there are many nooks and staircases. The palms do 
not look too obviously as though they were imported for 
that occasion only, and the prevailing note is one of com- 
fort and elegance, rather than chilly inadequacy. 

The annual dance of the Johannesburg Tennis Club was 
in full swing one evening some two months after Ryan’s 
arrival on the Rand. It was just like any other dance, in 
that the same people were present, and the same pro- 
gramme was gone through ; but it is the fashion for nearly 
every sporting body in Johannesburg to give a dance at 
least once a year, and to charge the guests so much per 
head at the regular rate. One sometimes wonders if the 
club is entertaining its guests on the annual evening, or 
the guests are entertaining the club. 

Mrs. Mason, an elderly lady with silver-grey hair, and 
a pair of bright black eyes which spoke of more than usual 

123 


The Debt 


124 

intelligence, was seated on a comfortable lounge in the 
palm court immediately adjoining the dancing hall. She 
herself never danced, but she liked to attend the more 
important of the annual functions— those which perhaps 
charged a little more than current rates — and watch the 
young world of Johannesburg growing up around her. 
She knew everybody in the town, but did not allow too 
many to know her; which was sufficient indication that 
she was by no means an ordinary woman. For the rest, 
she was a widow, and lived in her own house with a staff 
of white servants — the hall mark of affluence and respect- 
ability on the Rand. 

The guests — perhaps it would be more correct to allude 
to them as paying guests — were streaming out of the hall 
after enjoying one of the latest waltzes, and Mrs. Mason 
regarded them critically. There were the habituals, as 
she called them — the girls who never missed a dance of 
any social significance unless ill or out of town. These 
were the wives and daughters of leading tradesmen — of 
mine magnates — of lawyers and politicians. There were 
girls who were supposed to earn their living by typing, and 
there were women whose very existence was a mystery. 
Many of them were still quite pretty, though Johannesburg 
exacts a price from those who dance too often. Their 
dresses were well made and fitted admirably, and the warm 
colour in their faces, due to the exertion of the dance, 
lent even the plainer ones a passing pretence of beauty. 
In creams, and whites, and ninon veiled satins, they passed 
before her ; women who had been dancing almost since 
she could remember ; young girls who had passed through 
several seasons, and were no longer as young as perhaps 
their dresses proclaimed them ; other girls who only went 
to a few dances in the year, or who perhaps attended this 
particular one because their brothers were keen on tennis. 
So they crowded through the palm court, laughing and 
chatting to their male escorts, and presenting a pretty 
picture of flashing eyes and white teeth — a cheering sug- 
gestion of youth and vitality. Some of them remained in 
the court, but the majority passed on to roam up and down 
the wide passages, or sit in the comfortable places dis- 
coverable even by the uninitiated. 

Mrs. Mason made a few mental notes, and then smiled 


A Dance 


125 

across the palm court at a man in immaculate evening 
dress, and made a slight beckoning movement with her 
fan. 

The man came over to her at once. 

“Good evening, my lady,” he said pleasantly. “I 
noticed you making a mental inventory of the cleverly 
altered frocks, so refrained from forcing my company upon 
you.” 

“Sit down, Frank,” she answered. “It is quite three 
weeks since I saw you, and you must tell me all the news.” 

Lensford smiled. 

“Does the master seek information from the scholar?” 
he asked. 

“Sometimes. Isn’t there a saying in the Bible, or 
Shakespeare, about ‘ out of the mouths of babes and 
sucklings ’ ? ” 

“ A palpable hit ! And after all it is no more than the 
truth. What can the babe teach you, dear lady? ” 

“There were one or two strange faces I noticed to- 
night.” 

“And I. There was a lady in an emerald green sort of 
Empire gown, with brown on it. Who was she? ” 

The old lady smiled slightly. 

“She is not new,” she replied. “Only — shall we say? 
— renovated. Frenkstein’s housekeeper, you know. She 
has been to the continent for six months.” 

“Good gracious! She looks altogether different.” 

“ Her hair has changed, and her complexion, and her 
figure ” 

“And, pardon the interruption, her habits. I was 
watching her in the last set of lancers, and she didn’t 
scream once. Evidently she has been finishing her 
education.” 

“Don’t let’s discuss her, Frank. She is what one 
might term a very modern edition. Very gorgeous and 
attractive as to the cover, and improper inside. And now 
tell me about your country friend.” 

“ Ryan? ” 

“Yes. You seemed rather uncertain how he was going 
to shape when last I saw you.” 

“And now things are infinitely worse.” 

“You are certain in your uncertainty?” 


126 The Debt 

“ Tm afraid so. You see, there is a complication.” 

‘‘The usual one? ” 

“Tlte usual one, dear lady. And she is a very usual 
one too — remarkably ordinary.” 

‘‘ I think I saw her this evening with him. She is rather 
small, and fair. She was wearing a cream silk dress, 
with a fine old lace fichu. Also she had three pink roses 
in her corsage.” 

‘‘ I will not swear to the other details, but I noticed the 
roses. Her mother is with her, of course.” 

‘‘Who is she? ” 

‘‘The mother? A Mrs. Harris.” 

“ Of course I meant the mother. Had I referred to the 
daughter, I should have said ‘ what is she? ’ ” 

“ We are a city of workers. The girl is a typist in our 
office.” 

‘‘ But the mother. The name is familiar to me some- 
how.” 

She tapped her fan against the arm of the chair, and 
Lensford came to the rescue. 

‘‘It is rather before my time,” he said, ‘‘but I fancy 
Harris was her second conquest. He also was with our 
firm. Quite a family affair.” 

‘‘ Of course ! ” she exclaimed. ‘‘ She was a Mrs. Du 
Plooy. Harris was married to a sweet little girl, and when 
she died it seemed to break him up altogether. Quite a 
lot of people thought he became a little mad through 
brooding. I was one of the few who took up the cudgels 
on his behalf, and Mrs. Du Plooy was the leader of the 
opposition. Then old Du Plooy died, and in less than a 
year his widow married Harris. Of course I admitted 
then that he must be mad after all ; but Mrs. Du Plooy 
— Mrs. Harris — had also changed her mind on the subject. 
You knew Harris, didn’t you? ” 

“Yes. Very quiet little man, with a weak chin. He 
vanished mysteriously about seven years ago — soon after 
I joined the firm. There were queer tales told. ...” 

“Yes.” 

She looked at him reflectively, and then went on — 

“You know who was responsible for the trouble? ” 

“I think so.” 

“Which means you know. He is here to-night, and 


A Dance 


127 

he is wearing a red silk handkerchief in his shirt front. 
Also he has twice asked the young girl to dance with him. 
The second time she was with her mother, and . . . she 
accepted. The first time she was with your Mr. Ryan, 
and refused. One can pick up many of the threads of a 
story through watching, Frank.” 

Lensford nodded. 

‘‘But he also is an unprofitable subject,” he said, “and 
hasn’t even the advantage of an attractive cover.” 

“I am sorry for that girl,” Mrs. Mason said softly. 

“ I am sorry for Ryan. We are both out of the ordinary, 
dear lady. Usually the woman is sorry for the man, and 
the man for the woman.” 

“ But how is she necessarily a complication? ” 

“ Because but for her Ryan would have returned to his 
wilds, and his funny old father, even before this. As it 
is — he stays.” 

“But does it matter? ” 

“I’m afraid so. You know how I started the rumour 
going about his father being a stock breeder? Quite true 
so far as it went, but it did not go far enough. Obliging 
people have been boosting the story along, and he is now 
quite an important person. Last week Mrs. Cranford 
asked me to bring him up one afternoon.” 

“For Daphne?” 

“What could I think? Daphne has been out five 
seasons now, and there are three younger sisters.” 

“And?” 

“Don’t you see, dear lady, that that ridiculous story is 
going to hit back at him sooner or later? Had things 
gone as I intended, Ryan would have been away from here 
long before any complications happened. As it is, I fear 
he may stay. It is not nice for me to reflect that I may 
be the cause of much unhappiness, or at least embarrass- 
ment, to Ryan.” 

Mrs. Mason shot a quick glance at him. 

“Nonsense,” she said decidedly. “Half the people here 
have false reputations. We know the falseness of many of 
them, but we don’t mind. No one will think any the less 
of your friend. They will rather admire him for posing 
so successfully.” 

“But it is not only that. He is ridiculously unversed 


128 


The Debt 


in many ways, and he has no idea of the value of money. 
I told you how I introduced him to various stores, and 
that with my name behind him, he had not the least 
difficulty in opening accounts. I thought I might use this 
as a lever to induce him to leave in due season. But if he 
thinks he loves that girl, I should be the last to try to 
send him away.” 

“Then say nothing about the accounts.” 

“I’m afraid that won’t do. He knows perfectly well 
that he owes money, and every day he stays on here makes 
him more able to appreciate just what he owes. Also he 
is proud, and I am perfectly sure he will insist on paying 
his debts somehow. Lastly, some of the stores rendered 
accounts to him in the usual manner at the end of the 
month. He will still have those accounts. Altogether I 
seem to have made a particularly grievous mess of the 
whole business.” 

“ Is he engaged to the girl? ” 

“ I don’t think so. But it may occur at any moment.” 

“But surely he can’t afford to marry? ” 

“Certainly he can’t. But that is just where his ignor- 
ance of money matters will influence him. He hasn’t even 
a hazy idea of the expenses of married life here.” 

“It does seem awkward,” she admitted. “What you 
mean is that if he stays here, and becomes engaged, those 
debts will be like a mill-stone round his neck. And in a 
way, you feel you are responsible for them,” 

“ Exactly. He could never have obtained credit without 
my aid, and m a way I positively encouraged him to buy 
all sorts of things. I wanted him to have a good time, 
you see. Even now I should be delighted to pay off the 
accounts, but I am sure he would resent it. Also he would 
insist on owing me the money. It is far easier to owe to 
a tradesman than to a friend.” 

“ And he earns? ” 

“Twenty pounds a month.” 

“Almost enough to dress the girl — if she had inex- 
pensive tastes ! But don’t worry about it, Frank. You 
know you are a fatalist, and what is written is written. 
Only if they do become engaged, you must introduce them 
both to me. Perhaps I may be able to find a way out of 
the difficulty ; and in any case it will be soothing for you 


A Dance 


129 

to think that you are sharing the burden with me, as it 
were.” 

“ It will indeed. How can I show my pfratitude, dear 
lady?” 

“By taking me in to supper.” 

“But that merely adds to my debt.” 

“Frank, Frank! And yet I really flatter myself you 
do like talking to me. I am a vain old woman.” 

“You were my father’s dearest friend, long ago. Some- 
times I think that explains a lot about the dear old 
governor which I used not to understand. And you know 
how much pleasure it gives me to be with you. If only 
you were thirty years younger ! ” 

“ Say forty, and you will be verging on the possible. 
I am almost seventy, Frank; and you are — how old — 
thirty-five. But you would make an ideal husband for 
the right woman ” 

“And a very unsatisfactory one for the wrong woman. 
After careful study of the subject, I decided that the right 
woman was not likely to happen across my path, and 
so ” — he shrugged his shoulders — “ I lead the life I do. 
Had I any intention of ever marrying, I certainly 
should not have done so. I think marriage carries just 
a few obligations in the past, you know.” 

“You are original in many ways,” she said dryly. “And 
now to supper. Give me your arm, Frank.” 

They passed from the palm court, and down the stairs 
to the supper-room. Neither of them noticed that Ryan 
was sitting with Maggie Harris on a couch quite close to 
the chairs just vacated by them. Ryan looked very dis- 
tinguished in his well-cut evening clothes ; and Maggie 
was particularly fascinating that evening, for it was her 
first big dance, and the excitement had added an anima- 
tion and vivacity to her manner which Ryan found 
wonderfully charming. 

“Isn’t it just perfect?” she said. “Did you see Mr. 
Lensford with that dear old lady? ” 

Ryan nodded. He was so occupied in looking at her 
that he had no time for speech. And at the best he was a 
poor conversationalist. 

“That’s three dances I have had with you already,” 
she went on, “and three more after supper.” 

K 


130 


The Debt 


“Yes,” he assented. “It’s very good of you.” 

“Good of me? Why, didn’t you bring us? And you 
dance beautifully, too.” 

Which was no more than the truth. Ryan had all the 
colonial-born male’s ability in this direction, though he 
could not manage the lancers. 

“Do I really dance all right? ” he asked. 

“Really you do. Didn’t mother tell you so, too? ” 

“Yes,” he said shortly. Lensford had told him that he 
would have to ask the mother for a dance, and he had 
done so. She had given him two, and the second was still 
to come. Ryan was firmly convinced that Mrs. Harris’s 
dancing days were over, but the lady herself seemed 
unaware of the fact. 

“I didn’t think any one could enjoy themselves so much 
as I am to-night,” Maggie went on, after a little pause. 

Ryan was still looking at her, and she began to feel 
a little embarrassed. She was almost afraid of the big 
man, who seemed so perfectly at home merely because he 
was not thinking of the rest of the people; and she knew 
now that she loved him. His, very presence sent delicious 
little thrills through her, and dancing with him was the 
most wonderful pleasure. It was the dancing that had 
made her at last realise just how much she did love him. 
Before that she knew that she liked him — liked him very 
much indeed — but not more. And now the glamour of the 
evening had wrought the wonderful change, and nothing 
in the world mattered but just him. 

Poor little Maggie; hers was a shallow nature perhaps, 
but it was in the shallow ground that the good seed 
sprouted so amazingly, even if it did die later for lack of 
sustenance. She had been brought up to regard marriage 
at the earliest possible moment as the one essential for 
a girl to remember. Her mother had explained to her 
that love didn’t matter — that would come after marriage 
— the great thing was to get married. Indeed, it had been 
hinted to her that any suggestion of love before marriage 
was not only extremely risky, but was almost immoral. 
Mrs. Harris judged men as she found them, and had it 
been suggested to her that there were others — that many 
men were not only honourable, but also quite trustworthy 
— she would have laughed the idea to scorn. 


A Dance 


131 

And now Maggie knew that she loved a man before he 
had even proposed to her. She felt an odd little feeling 
of guilt, but it was rather a delightful feeling. And at 
the back of her head was the conviction that Ryan was 
fond of her, and that if only he did propose to her, her 
mother would be so impressed that there would be no 
more petty troubles and tribulations. 

She blushed at. her own thoughts, and spoke almost at 
random to relieve the situation. 

“Did you see that I had a dance with Mr. Feinbaum? ” 
she asked. 

Now Ryan had been on the very verge of a proposal. 
Indeed, he had been trying for several minutes to say the 
needful words, and that was why they had not gone down 
to supper with the rest of the people ; but try as he might 
he couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. 

The mention of Feinbaum ’s name was like a cold 
douche. Whatever he thought of the latter’s motives, he 
at least hated him for his manners and morals. He had 
spoken to other people about the man, and knew he was 
not to be trusted with young girls. Also he felt sure that 
Mrs. Harris must know all about him, and yet she let 
Maggie dance with him. 

He frowned a little. 

“Do you like dancing with him? ” he asked. 

“He dances just perfectly,” she said. 

There are many girls who have no time to think about 
a man’s character so long as he dances well. 

Ryan rose, and offered his arm. 

“We’d better go down to supper,” he said. 


K 2 


CHAPTER XIII 


FRANCES TO THE RESCUE 

Maggie’s life during- the week which followed the dance 
was far from pleasant. In the first place, her mother was 
inclined to be oppressive. Mrs. Harris had gone to the 
dance firmly convinced that Ryan would propose to her 
daughter that night. She had been to some considerable 
expense in order to make Maggie as attractive as possible 
for the occasion, and that cream silk dress rankled in her 
mind. For nothing had come of it after all, and Maggie 
was still unattached. Mrs. Harris felt that she had a 
distinct grievance, for both of her own daughters now had 
attendant swains who kept the rest of the male populace 
at a distance, and yet neither of them managed to get 
engaged. Ethel was in the habit of saying she was almost 
engaged, though even this promising indication failed to 
satisfy her mother; but as regarded Maggie, she felt her- 
self placed in a false position. She would dearly have 
loved to shake her second daughter very thoroughly for 
raising false hopes within her, and she was afraid to do 
so in case after all those hopes were justified. Conse- 
quently, she treated Maggie with a mixture of veiled sar- 
casm — Mrs. Harris’s idea of veiled sarcasm would not 
have puzzled a hibernating hedgehog — and half-hearted 
tenderness, which nearly drove the poor girl frantic. 

But Ethel was infinitely worse. Feinbaum had never 
taken her to a dance, and she was furiously and unreason- 
ably jealous. She felt that everybody) was laughing at 
her, which argued that she had a very exaggerated idea 
of her own importance as an item of conversation, and 
she did everything in her power to convince Maggie that 
she had been guilty of a most despicable action. She 
usually prefaced her remarks by saying that she knew 
Maggie would think she was jealous, which was, of 
course, ridiculous, and then went on to explain that every- 
body was laughing at her, Maggie, because Ryan had not 

132 


Frances to the Rescue 


133 

yet proposed; that it was scandalous the way she was 
openly trying to catch him ; that he was a poor sort of 
man at the best, and that he was only an assistant 
storeman. 

Also she did everything in her power to cause trouble 
in the house, and Ethel was an adept at causing trouble, 
and then standing by to watch it. It was she who goaded 
her mother on by telling her what various people had said 
about the dance, and about the number of times Ryan 
partnered Maggie, and about Ryan’s position with Strauss 
and Van der Bloom; and Mrs. Harris, with that curious, 
almost pathetic faith some mothers have in their daughters, 
believed even the most preposterous tales. Ethel was so 
accustomed to lying to her mother that she said the first 
thing which happened to come into her mind, and the 
slightest attempt at verification would have shown Mrs. 
Harris that the tales told her had not the smallest founda- 
tion in fact. But, naturally enough, it never occurred 
to her that there was any need of verification. 

Maggie came home to lunch on the Saturday feeling 
that she could not possibly stand any further worry. 
Feinbaum had been pestering her again in the office, and 
this time she really did not know what to do. She was 
accustomed to being troubled with his attentions, ren- 
dered half-jokingly so that he should not be committed 
in any way, and hitherto she had held him at bay easily 
enough. But apparently the sight of her at the dance had 
roused all the dormant instincts of the man, and he played 
his trump cards. Maggie was at best an indifferent 
typist, for she had not sufficient intelligence to think 
over her work. It was her duty to take down Feinbaum ’s 
letters, and it must be admitted that they were by no 
means always transcribed correctly. 

That morning Feinbaum had come into the office, and 
after sending the other girl away on some frivolous pre- 
text, had shown Maggie a batch of half-a-dozen letters 
which were more than usually incoherent. 

“I’ve a jolly good mind to report you to Mr. Strauss,” 
he said. 

Maggie gasped. She knew perfectly well what that 
meant. Mr. Strauss was a kind-hearted old gentleman, 
but he couldn’t be worried with minor details. If Fein- 


The Debt 


134 

baum had reported her, he would merely have asked if 
she was satisfactory, and if the answer had been in the 
negative, would have told Feinbaum to get rid of her, and 
advertise for another typist. 

“I wonder what your mother would say if you got the 
sack,” Feinbaum went on brutally. 

Maggie dared not think of that. 

“Oh, don’t report me — please don’t,” she begged. 

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t. Nearly every day there 
is something wrong with the letters, and I could get any 
number of girls for the same wage. I’ve been letting you 
down lightly because I knew your family, and thought 
you were a good little sort, Maggie; but I don’t see why 
I should stick up for you if you are going to be rude to me.” 

“I’ve never meant to be rude to you,” Maggie said. 

“Yes, you have — lots of times. What about when I 
offered to take you out to tea the other evening? ” 

“I — I had to get home.” 

“ Stuff. And I offered to drive you home in my car 
afterwards, so you wouldn’t have been late.” 

There was a little silence. 

“ If you would be more friendly, I think I would give 
you another chance,” he went on. 

“ If you only would ! ” she exclaimed. 

“Well — I tell you what. Will you come out with me 
this afternoon? ” 

Maggie thought of what her mother would say if she 
lost her billet — thought of Ethel’s sneers, and of the life 
she would lead if she could not get another situation. 

“Well?” Feinbaum demanded. 

He was watching her as a cat might watch a helpless 
mouse — a sneering smile on his lips. 

“All right,” she said, in a very small voice. True to 
her up-bringing, she had chosen the line of least resistance. 

“That’s sensible. We’ll have quite a gay, time to- 
gether, and perhaps you’d better not say anything to 
your mother. Make some excuse, and then stroll down 
and meet me at the store about four o’clock. I have to 
be there then. I’ll take you to tea, and then we’ll go for 
a bit of a run.” 

And then he had explained her mistakes quite nicely 
to her, and had left the office. 


Frances to the Rescue 135 

She distrusted him utterly, and was terrified at the 
idea of meeting him at the store ; but she felt it was the 
only course open to her. 

In the bedroom she encountered Ethel, who greeted 
her with a pleasant inquiry as to whether Ryan had yet 
been caught. 

“I wish you wouldn’t be such a beast, Ethel,” Maggie 
retorted. “And just as I want your help, too.” 

Ethel was all attention at once. She loved to dabble 
in the affairs of other people. 

“What is it? ” she demanded. 

“Mr. Feinbaum. Oh, I don’t know what to do. He 
has threatened to get me dismissed unless I meet him this 
afternoon, and I’ve said I will.” 

Ethel drew in her breath sharply. She hated the idea 
of Maggie being alone with Feinbaum, but he had 
explained his reasons so clearly to her. 

“What about it?” she said. 

“I don’t want to go; — I daren't go. You know what 
he is, Ethel. Lots of times I have been afraid of him 
even in the office, with the others quite close. He 
doesn’t say much, but it is the way he looks at you. 
And you know the tales we’ve heard about him.” 

“Oh, you hear tales about everybody.” 

“ But you know these are true. Months ago you told 
me that he was most dreadfully rude to you one day 
when you were out with him, and you said you would 
never speak to him again.” 

Ethel coloured slightly. 

“Did I? ” she said. “But then I had my own reasons 
for changing my mind. I can’t tell you everything. If 
you’ve said you’ll meet him, you’d better go. You’re old 
enough to look after yourself.” 

Maggie sat down on the bed, and clasped her hands 
helplessly. 

“Won’t you tell mother what a beast he is?” she 
begged. “She’d believe you, and if I say anything she’ll 
tell me it’s only my fancy.” 

“No, I shan’t tell her. Why should I go and say 
things about a man who is almost engaged to me? Would 
you go and sneak about Ryan ? ” 

It was typical of Ethel — typical of a certain section of 


The Debt 


136 

Johannesburg — that Feinbaum’s behaviour was of no par- 
ticular moment so long as there was the possibility that 
he might be matrimonially inclined. She had been 
brought up by her mother to regard marriage as the one 
desirable thing in the world, the consummation of ambi- 
tion and respectability, and she was determined that no 
squeamishness on her part should interfere with her 
chances. Intending purchasers, as it were, must be given 
every opportunity of thoroughly investigating the goods 
which were up for disposal in the marriage market, and 
it was only to be expected that they would take liberties. 

“But can’t you see how different it is? ” Maggie said. 
“Mr. Ryan would never be rude to me — or to anybody 
else. And I don’t think for a minute he intends to ask 
me to marry him — why should he? We are just friends, 
and I would trust myself anywhere with him.” 

“And so would I with Rudolf,” Ethel retorted. 

Maggie threw out her arms with a gesture of im- 
patience. 

“But I wouldn’t,” she said. “If you and he are such 
friends, and he really is practically engaged to you, why 
does he want to take me out? ” 

“You are my sister,” Ethel said loftily, “and, as such, 
are entitled to his consideration.” 

Maggie jumped to her feet, flushed and angry. 

“And what is his consideration worth? ” she exclaimed. 
“ I know, and you know ; and yet for some reason you 
want me to go and meet him this afternoon. You always 
were a sneak, Ethel, and I believe you’d be glad if some- 
thing dreadful happened. Look when he said something 
to me two or three months ago — something that a decent 
man would rather have died than said. It was you who 
persuaded me to say nothing to mother, and told me you 
would see that he didn’t worry me again. But I won’t 
stand it any more. I’m going straight to mother now, 
and am going to tell her everything. You know per- 
fectly well that she would never let him come near the 
house if she knew how really bad he was. It’s only 
because she thinks he is going to marry you, and because 
he is well off, that she likes him. After all, she’s my 
mother, and I know she would give it him very straight 
if she knew he had been rude to me.” 


Frances to the Rescue 137 

Ethel smiled maliciously. 

“All right,” she said. “If you want to sneak, go now. 
Mother will ask you why you didn’t say anything at the 
time.” 

“ But you begged me ” 

“I shall say I didn’t. I shall say this is the first I’ve 
heard about it, and you know she’ll believe me.” 

Maggie sat down again, and regarded her sister with 
opened mouth. 

“Oh, you cowidn^f,” she said helplessly. 

“Couldn’t I! And I’ll swear that he has never even 
thought of being rude to me, and that it is just because 
you are jealous. She’ll say that if he was rude to you 
you ought to have gone to her at once, and she won’t 
believe a word you say.” 

“But you begged me,” Maggie repeated dully. 

“No, I didn’t — and if I did you were a little fool to 
take any notice. D’you think I would care what you 
said if Mr. Ryan was rude to me? It will only make you 
seem ridiculous, because I’ve often told mother how 
jealous you are of me. And I’ve been round telling all 
our friends, too, and they are all laughing at you. You 
only run after your Mr. Ryan because you hate to think 
that I’m almost engaged and you aren’t — you know you 
do. But he can’t take you out for drives in his motor- 
car, and that’s why you’re jealous ” 

Maggie laughed bitterly. 

“Oh, you utter pig!” she said. “And what a mind 
you must have, Ethel. Why, it is just because I don’t 
want to be taken out in his car that I asked you to help 
me get out of meeting him this afternoon.” 

“Of course that’s what you 5ay,” Ethel retorted, “but 
I dare say you asked him to take you, and he was too 
polite to refuse. Of course you’d pretend to me ” 

“What would she pretend?” a voice interrupted from 
the direction of the door, and Frances strolled in. “Has 
she been getting you into trouble again, Maggie?” 

Maggie, who was sitting despondently on the bed, with 
an expression of hopeless misery on her rather pretty 
face, looked up with a little gasp of relief. 

“Oh, Frances dear. I’m so glad you’ve come!” she 
exclaimed. 


The Debt 


138 

“Of course you are,” Ethel said bitterly. “Two against 
one, and then you wonder why I tell mother. It’s not a 
bit fair, and you know it.” 

“Don’t start crying,” Frances begged. “In the first 
place I haven’t said a word against you yet, but you must 
have a pretty guilty conscience if you take things for 
granted right away. What’s the trouble? ” 

“It’s Mr. Feinbaum,” Maggie said. 

“Oh, that beast ! ” Frances remarked casually. 

“He’s not a beast, and you’re only jealous — you know 
you are,” Ethel cried. 

“What an utter baby you are!” Frances rejoined 
calmly. “To think that you are over twenty -one, and 
yet you cry like a kid of six, and still indulge in the 
foolish repartee of the schoolroom. I’m afraid that last 
sentence is a little too much advanced for you,” she added 
kindly. 

“He has made me promise to meet him this afternoon,” 
Maggie went on. She was feeling stronger to resist 
already, though a minute ago she had been on the point 
of yielding out of sheer helplessness. 

“And what if he has?” Ethel demanded. “It’s only 
his niceness. Rudolf ” 

“Oh, Rudolf this and Rudolf that,” Frances mimicked, 
very rudely. “I’m utterly tired of Rudolf. If you really 
cared for him, Ethel, you wouldn’t want to be eternally 
thrusting him into our faces. You keep on talking in 
order to stifle your own misgivings. But just be quiet 
for a few moments, and let Maggie tell me what he’s 
done now.” 

Maggie, nothing loth, plunged into a full account of 
the scene in the office, and Frances listened with a con- 
temptuous smile on her face. 

“He’s a gallant, noble person, isn’t he?” she com- 
mented when the recital was over. 

“It’s all lies ! ” Ethel exclaimed. “I believe she asked 
him ” 

“And that’s why she’s terrified at the thought of 
having to meet him. Don’t be silly, Ethel. And Maggie 
doesn’t tell unnecessary lies, either. Only the ones that 
she simply hds to in order to retain her self-respect. 
The same as I do.” 


Frances to the Rescue 


139 

“You see,” Maggie resumed, “if I don’t go, he’ll get 
me the sack on Monday, and goodness only; knows what 
will happen then. I’m not very clever, you know, and 
I might not be able to get another billet. But I’m scared 
to death at the idea of being alone with him at the store — 
I really am. You don’t know how bad he is, Frances. A 
few months ago he said something awful to me, and I 
was going to tell mother, only Ethel persuaded me not to. 
And he was frightfully rude to Ethel too.” 

“It’s a wicked lie,” Ethel cried. “And — and you never 
said anything to me about him being rude to you, either.” 

Frances looked at her shrewdly. 

“You tell lies awfully badly, Ethel,” she said. “You 
always look away as soon as you start — look anywhere 
except at the person to whom you are lying — and I can 
tell as easily as anything. Sometimes I can’t understand 
how it is that stepmother believes you. I don’t believe 
she does, as a matter of fact. Perhaps she’s sorry for you.” 

“Oh, go on — two to one — two to one,” Ethel retorted. 

“More schoolroom repartee. It’s absolutely inconceiv- 
able to me the way you are always getting poor old 
Maggie into trouble. Whatever pleasure is there in it? 
And she’s your sister, too. Why don’t you confine your 
attentions to unworthy me? I don’t mind a bit, and I’m 
not even your stepsister really.” 

“But what shall I do? Do help me, Frances,” Maggie 
said appealingly. 

“Do? Go straight and tell mother, of course.” 

“But Ethel says she will swear it is all lies, and that 
Mr. Feinbaum has never been rude to her ” 

“He hasn’t,” Ethel said sharply. 

“Again the averted glance,” Frances commented. 

“And what if he has?” Ethel demanded. “No man 
is perfect, and he apologised — of course he apologised. 
He said that he had had too much drink that evening, 
or he would never have dreamed of — of behaving like that. 
Oh, you are a pair of nice, kind-hearted, charitable people. 
I was only too ready to forgive him.” 

Frances frowned. 

“There are some things no decent woman may forgive,” 
she said quietly. “ I have heard about him, and you 
really know how bad he is, Ethel. Can’t you see that 


The Debt 


140 

even if you yourself desired to forgive the unforgivable, 
it is not fair for us? He is still allowed to come here 
and persecute Maggie. In justice to her, if not to me as 
well, you should have at least worded your forgiveness 
so that he did not come to the house again. Other people 
see him visiting here, and then they think they can take 
liberties with Maggie and me.” 

Ethel’s voice rose to a scream — her last line of defence. 

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” she cried. 
“Trying to be grown up and high and mighty, and using 
long words. What about your father? A nice example 
he set us, didn’t he? And he would have been in prison 
if Mr. Feinbaum hadn’t helped him. Oh, I know ” 

The door was flung open, and Mrs. Harris, rampant, 
stood on the threshold. 

“You young imps ! ” she shouted. “What d’you mean 
by screaming and carrying on like this? Always quarrel- 
ling and fighting like a lot of Vrededorp children — I’m 
sure I can’t think where you get your manners. You 
again, Maggie my lady, I suppose ” 

“Oh, both of them,” Ethel put in. Immediately her 
mother appeared on the scene, she had produced her 
handkerchief, and was now sobbing convulsively. “ They ’ve 
both been say^ing the most awful things about Rudolf, 
just because they are jealous. And they tell lies — they 
were making up lies to come and tell you. Oh, it’s a 
cruel, wicked shame.” 

She threw herself on the bed, crying bitterly. 

Mrs. Harris looked at her a little dubiously. She was 
so accustomed to regarding her eldest daughter as above 
reproach of any kind, that she usually accepted her state- 
ments without comment. But somehow she had lately 
begun to doubt. In spite of herself she could not help 
realising that Frances was essentially truthful, and the 
statements of Frances by no means always coincided with 
those of Ethel. She had an uneasy suspicion that perhaps 
she had been too ready to believe any little tale which was 
brought to her by Ethel, and the suspicion rankled. It 
was not that she objected to Ethel’s behaviour on any 
moral grounds, but she hated to think that, in her own 
words, she had been fooled. 

“I wish you wouldn’t be such a baby, Ethel,” she said. 


Frances to the Rescue 14 1 

more quietly. “At your age, too. I should be ashamed 
to cry at nothing like you do.” 

Apparently she relented almost immediately, for she 
crossed the room and touched Ethel gently on the 
shoulder. 

“Never mind, my dear,” she said. “Til speak to the 
others afterwards, and if they’ve been annoying you I’ll 
make them stay in this room all to-morrow morning. 
Come with me now, and tell me all about it.” 

Still sobbing wildly, Ethel allowed herself to be sup- 
ported from the room, and the glance she flashed over 
her mother’s protecting arm at the other two girls gave 
them every reason to think that Sunday would be a day 
of penance. 

“Thank goodness she’s gone,” Frances exclaimed. 

She carefully closed the door, and then turned to 
Maggie. 

“What did she mean about my father?” she asked 
quietly. 

Maggie flushed uncomfortably. She had heard her 
mother say things which should never have been said 
before her daughters — Mrs. Harris was rather given to 
this particular vice — and there had been something about 
Feinbaum explaining how Mr. Harris had run away to 
avoid arrest. But Maggie’s instincts were not like 
Ethel’s. 

“Oh, you know how she says anything that comes into 
her head,” she replied. “ In a way Ethel is jolly clever — 
in a sneaky, spiteful sort of way — isn’t she? And I dare 
say she knew how it would hurt if she said anything about 
your father, so she just said it. I don’t suppose there is 
a word of truth in it.” 

“ It’s rather curious, the way how nobody seems to 
know why father left so suddenly,” Frances said thought- 
fully. “ I can quite understand anybody running away 
from stepmother, but there was something else. . . . 
But Ethel can’t know anything about it. And now how 
are we to arrange your troubles for you, poor little 
Maggie. It’s simply unbelievable that a man like that 
is allowed to go on flourishing. I suppose it would be 
quite useless to go to stepmother now that Ethel has 
had her say?” 


The Debt 


142 

“Quite. You see, mother saw we were quarrelling, 
and that would make her believe anything Ethel said. 
If we could only make her believe us just for once, she 
would almost throw Mr. Feinbaum out of the house next 
time he called. She isn’t so bad really, Frances — it’s 
only her way.” 

“And she is your mother. Quite right, Maggie dear. 
But — I tell you what I’ll do — ril meet him this afternoon. 
He can’t sack me, and I should love to tell him just what 
I thought about him for behaving like he did to you this 
morning. Oh, it will be fun ! ” 

Maggie was delighted, but a little anxious. 

“ If you only could ! ” she exclaimed. “ But — but would 
you be safe? Aren’t you afraid? ” 

“Afraid! Of a beast like that? Maggie dear, you 
don’t know your little stepsister yet. Why, he can’t eat 
me.” 

“No, but you don’t know how bad he is really.” 

“Don’t I? Well, perhaps you’d better tell me just what 
he did to Ethel and you, and anything else you know 
about the dear person, and then if I feel at all frightened 
I’ll only shout at him from a distance, or wait till there 
is a policeman in sight. Johannesburg is a civilised town, 
you know. But I can look after myself a lot better than 
you can, and it will be a crying shame if he is allowed to 
go on persecuting you like this. I shall certainly go.” 

“Oh, Frances, if you really don’t mind, you can’t think 
how tremendously grateful I should be. You see, if I 
go, he can frighten me so by threatening to get me dis- 
missed, like he did this morning ; and in any case I never 
seem to know what to do when anybody is rude to me. I 
either start giggling, or else I cry. You are so different. 
But first I must tell you all I know about him.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


AT THE STORE 

Frances set out in the best of spirits a little before four 
o’clock. She had discreetly kept out of her mother’s way 
in the interval, knowing that complications might arise 
if she were supposed to be confined to her room, and then 
calmly went out. She had quite made up her mind that 
it was her duty to champion Maggie, and she would have 
done so despite any restrictions which may have been 
laid upon her by her stepmother; but if she could avoid 
these restrictions, so much the better. 

It was significant of Mrs. Harris that she did not bully 
Frances half as much as she did Maggie, and did not 
interfere with her liberty even as much as she did with 
that of Ethel. Her own daughters had to beg humbly 
for permission even if they desired to go and buy some 
trifle at the shop close to the house, and this permission 
was quite likely to be withheld if Mrs. Harris was not 
feeling amiable. But Frances had flatly declined to be 
treated as a baby^ though she was younger than Maggie 
by a couple of years ; and Mrs. Harris had acquiesced 
because she possibly realised the unreasonableness of her 
own attitude, and the impossibility of dragooning Frances 
into accepting the iron discipline, the petty tyranny, which 
was the lot of her own daughters. Also Mrs. Harris was 
more than a little anxious as to the morals of both Ethel 
and Maggie, for she was well aware that they both had 
more than a passing knowledge of the unsavoury side of 
life — a knowledge which comes perforce to the dwellers 
in Johannesburg. In the house she believed in Ethel 
before either of the others ; but out of it she only had 
confidence in Frances. Which did not increase her love 
for her stepdaughter in the slightest degree. 

Frances walked briskly down the hill leading towards 
town, carrying herself with that freedom of movement 

143 


The Debt 


144 

which tells of perfect health, and rehearsing all the things 
she meant to say to Feinbaum. She was tremendously 
indignant at the underhand pressure which had been 
brought to bear on Maggie, for she had come to regard 
herself as the special providence of the younger of her 
stepsisters. She herself had had better chances, had been 
brought up in more congenial surroundings, but her nature 
had never been weak like that of the other two girls. 
She was discerning enough to understand that Maggie was 
capable of good thoughts and kindly deeds, but that 
though the spirit was undoubtedly willing, the flesh was 
weak. For Ethel, on the other hand, she had nothing but 
contempt. Given a harmonious home, and examples likely 
to inspire her to further effort, and Maggie would have 
been an altogether nice girl. As it was, the loud, over- 
bearing manners of her mother frightened and confused 
her; and when she acted upon her better instincts she 
frequently got into serious trouble. She was essentially 
weak and timid, and she naturally began to stifle her 
decent impulses when they only provoked ridicule, or 
worse. 

Frances was the rock to which she now clung, and 
Frances was quite capable of maintaining the part. She 
looked particularly well that afternoon in a dark green coat 
and skirt, with a wide-brimmed black straw hat covering 
her wealth of dark hair, and her hands encased in brown 
suede gloves. She wore brown boots, for she had not 
altogether reverted to the colonial custom of invariably 
wearing shoes, and the weather was threatening. Away 
to the west heavy banks of cloud were creeping up, and 
she could hear the thunder muttering and rumbling in the 
distance. But that didn’t disturb her in the least. She 
knew that the store of Strauss and Van der Bloom was 
only about five minutes away from the car line, and at 
the worst it would mean a wetting. 

She hurried along a little faster when she heard the big 
clock at the Post Office strike four, for she had no desire 
to miss the appointment. She knew the short cuts through 
one or two vacant stands, and by thus lessening the dis- 
tance she eventually turned into Opperje Street a little 
more than five minutes late, and saw Feinbaum ’s car 
standing outside the store. 


At the Store 


145 

Her pulse beat a little faster as she approached the 
place, though she felt not the slightest fear of the man. It 
was the natural excitement at the prospect of an interview 
which promised to be sufficiently unusual. But Frances 
was more than seventeen, and in many ways much older 
than either of her stepsisters ; she had no doubt that she 
would be able to crush Mr. Feinbaum quite easily. 

Feinbaum had laid his plans so as to preclude the pos- 
sibility of any suspicion attaching to him, though it was 
ridicule rather than suspicion that he feared. It was quite 
natural that he should be at the store that afternoon, and 
he had opened the door so as to give any chance passers- 
by the impression that he had just gone inside to get 
something. He stood out of sight near the entrance and 
waited impatiently as the minutes crept slowly by. 

When he heard footsteps approaching he came quickly 
out, with an ingratiating smile on his face, and — encoun- 
tered Frances. It was only with a tremendous effort that 
he managed to preserve his presence of mind. 

“Ah — how d’you do, Miss Frances?” he said, lifting 
his hat politely. 

It was significant that whereas he always called the two • 
elder girls by their Christian names, he gave the courtesy 
title to Frances. 

She nodded coldly. 

“You didn’t expect me,” she said. 

“Of course not.” 

“No. You expected Maggie.” 

“ But why ” 

“Please don’t prevaricate. Maggie told me everything, 
and I volunteered to come in her stead. She was afraid ” 
— she looked him up and down and smiled contemptuously 
— “afraid of you.” 

“You are quite mistaken ” 

“No, I’m not. I wanted to tell you what a despicable 
cad I think you are. You, a so-called man, using your 
position to frighten Maggie into meeting you, when you 
know she loathes the very sight of you, as any decent 
girl would. You trade on what you know of the con- 
ditions of her life at home, to threaten to get her dis- 
missed if she won’t — won’t bow down to you. Oh, I 
wish I could tell you what an utterly debased and cowardly 
L 


The Debt 


146 

beast you are. The Kaffirs who work for you are in- 
finitely better than you are, and you wouldn’t dare to 
insult her like that if she had a brother to protect her, 
or a father.” 

Feinbaum’s face was very red, and his natural instinct 
to bluster asserted itself. 

‘‘I won’t have you talking to me like that,” he said, 
and his voice was almost a shout. 

‘‘Yes, you will,” she went on calmly. “You see, I’m 
not a bit afraid of you. Do you know what I’m going 
to do? I’m going down to the office on Monday morn- 
ing, and I shall tell Mr. Strauss exactly what has occurred. 
He will believe me, and it is quite time somebody exposed 
you. And then I shall tell Mr. Lensford, and get him 
to explain to Mr. Ryan, and if something doesn’t happen 
to you I shall be very disappointed indeed. That is all, 
except that once more I think you are the most despicable 
cad in the whole world.” 

She turned to walk away, conscious that she had done 
as well as she could have hoped; but Feinbaum hurried 
after her. 

“Just a minute. Miss Frances,” he begged. “Just a 
minute.” 

He was exceedingly perturbed. Hitherto he had only 
come into contact with girls who had not the spirit to 
withstand him. Some of them had perhaps screamed at 
him, and some had run away ; but in common with others 
of his type, Feinbaum had realised that if he grossly 
insulted a girl, her sense of her own degradation usually 
held her silent. He had been careful not to take liberties 
with women of more mature years. 

But now, what if Frances really did go and see Strauss? 
The old man was very particular on some points, and was 
essentially a gentleman ; and the Deed of Partnership 
which admitted Feinbaum to a small interest in the firm 
was terminable at the will of either of the seniors. More- 
over, he had an uneasy suspicion that Strauss would 
believe her. 

He cursed himself for having tried to intimidate Maggie, 
especially as Ethel was so easy to manage ; and there 
were other girls he knew, too. 

“Won’t you give me a chance to explain? ” he begged. 


At the Store 


147 

“There are some things which cannot be explained,” 
Frances answered coldly. 

“ But really. At least I could show you that I am not 
so bad as you may think. Maggie is really very trying in 
the office — she really is. You must know that she is not 
very clever. I have shielded her from trouble times with- 
out number. And yet she has always been rude to me. 
It was Ethel who told me to give her a fright, so that she 
would be more careful about her work in future. Cer- 
tainly it was Ethel’s idea altogether. You ask her. I 
intended to lecture her quite gently this afternoon, and 
point out that unless she really tried to improve, I should 
be unable to shield her much longer. That was all. I 
give you my word of honour that was all. But now you 
have made me feel that I behaved in an utterly caddish 
manner, and I can’t tell you how ashamed I am. You see, 
I admit it was caddish, don’t I? It didn’t occur to me 
at the time. She is Ethel’s sister, and if things go well 
I shall probably marry Ethel one of these days. Of course 
you knew that? And she is so very young in her ways. 
I looked upon myself purely in the light of a sort of 
father to her.” 

He paused breathlessly, and felt a thrill of relief as he 
noticed that Frances seemed a little uncertain. Truth to 
tell, she hardly knew what to think. For himself, she 
disbelieved and distrusted him entirely ; but it was cer- 
tainly quite possible that Ethel was responsible for the 
whole trouble. It tied her hands to be unable to dismiss 
the possibility of her own stepsister having urged Fein- 
baum to act as he had done. As a matter of fact, it was 
just the sort of thing Ethel would have done. 

“You see what I mean?” he went on. “Mind you, 
I think you were perfectly justified in speaking as you did, 
and now I think over it, I undoubtedly acted in a most 
caddish way. But if you will let me drive you back to 
the house now, we will interview Ethel at once, and you 
will see she bears out what I say. Sometimes — forgive 
me — she is not so straightforward as she should be, and 
I can quite understand that she has said nothing of her 
own part in this unfortunate business. I do not blame 
her at all, but it makes it doubly hard for me. I can 
hardly defend myself any further without committing her. 


The Debt 


148 

and that is repugnant to me. You will understand what I 
mean. After all I am a gentleman — a very poor one I 
feel now, I assure you — and she is a lady.” 

He paused again, and watched Frances as she stood 
with a frown of perplexity on her forehead. Overhead a 
sullen roar of thunder proclaimed that the storm was 
almost upon them, and a few heavy drops of rain splashed 
into the dusty road. A couple of ragged blue-gum trees 
on the opposite side of the way rustled ominously as the 
storm-wind caught them, and in the direction of town a 
red haze of dust began to blot out the more distant 
landmarks. 

Frances shook her head. 

“I don’t believe you,” she said simply. 

“No, I hardly expected you would. Were I in your 
position I’m certain I shouldn’t. It was awfully good of 
you to come here this afternoon to take your sister’s part, 
and I admire you immensely for it. But just step under 
cover — it’s going to rain hard in a moment — and I’ll 
explain how it occurred.” 

“I don’t mind the rain,” she said. 

“As you will. But I don’t like the idea of your going 
away thinking so very badly of me. I see now what a 
blackguard I was, but it was quite unintentional, and I 
wish I could convince you somehow. In a way I regard 
myself as one of the family, you know, and I assure you 
I only wanted to talk to her for her own good — as a 
father, you understand. She has no father, remember. 
Even her stepfather is not here to advise her — ^your father. 
By the way, you ought not to be too hard on me, because 
he was a great friend of mine, and even now I have a 
lot of his private papers in the safe just inside.” 

Frances was suddenly interested. She had always 
wished to know really why her father disappeared so 
strangely, and after Ethel’s remark that afternoon she 
felt she would have done anything to learn the truth. 

“Do you know why — why he went away? ” she asked 
quickly. 

Feinbaum felt that he had struck the right note at last. 

“Certainly I do,” he replied. “I was the best friend 
he had, and you would realise that if you cared to look at 
some of the letters I received from him. I always keep 


At the Store 


149 

them in the little safe down here. I don’t think you would 
think so badly of me if you read them.” 

There was a vivid flash of lightning, and a deafening 
peal of thunder almost immediately after. Then the rain 
began to fall in earnest, becoming in a few seconds a 
tropical downpour that echoed deafeningly on the iron 
roof of the store, and converted the road into a rushing 
torrent in a very few minutes. Feinbaum stepped in- 
stinctively into the shelter of the store, and Frances 
followed. There was a glint of excitement in his eyes, 
but he went on quite naturally. 

“By Jove, that was sudden, hey? As you are here. 
Miss Frances, would you care to see those letters? I 
should like to think that you didn’t think so very badly 
of me.” 

Frances failed in one particular, in that she had no 
conception of how bad a really bad man could be. She 
hated Feinbaum, and distrusted him; but she made the 
mistake of despising him, and she was neither old enough 
nor strong enough to be able to do that. She wanted 
intensely to see those letters written by her vanished 
father, and it did not occur to her to think that Feinbaum 
could be actively dangerous. 

“Yes, I should like to see them,” she said. 

Feinbaum smiled a little. After all, the game was run- 
ning for him, and in a little while there would be no 
danger of Strauss hearing anything. 

“Come into my office,” he said. “There is a skylight 
there, and you will be able to see better.” 

He walked to the space partitioned off to form his 
office and unlocked the door. Frances followed heedlessly, 
only thinking of those letters she was to see, and passed 
into the little room as he stood aside. He followed her 
and shut the door. Then he laughed. 

It was the laugh that suddenly roused Frances to a 
sense of her own danger. Maggie had warned her, but 
she had never dreamed he would dare to take any liberties 
with her. Of a sudden she felt a very real fear, but there 
was no trace of it in her voice when she spoke. 

“The letters?” she said coldly. 

Feinbaum laughed again, and, crossing the room, sat 
down on a small couch in one corner. 


The Debt 


150 

“Oh, yes. The letters,” he echoed. 

“If you do not know how to behave I shall not stay 
here,” Frances went on even more coldly. 

“All right,” he said. “Why not go? ” 

She walked to the door and turned the handle. To her 
surprise she could not open it. 

“Yale lock,” Feinbaum explained. “Spring, you know. 
Locked automatically when I shut it, and the key is in 
my pocket. Rather awkward, isn’t it?” 

“Will you open this door? ” she said furiously. 

“Presently. When I’ve had my turn, and you’ve gone 
on your knees and apologised. Oh, you little fool to think 
you could best me. Me. And the game was in your 
hands too, I give you that much credit. But now it’s 
you who will be begging me to keep my mouth shut before 
we part.” 

Frances stood by the door — helpless. She realised the 
futility of shouting for help, for even had anybody been 
passing, the roar of the rain on the roof would have 
effectually prevented their hearing her. She was terribly 
frightened, but she would not let him see it. 

“Oh, you cad — you utter cad,” she said. 

“Yes, I know I am,” he retorted. “But I shouldn’t 
keep harping on it if I were you. I’ll make you pay for 
every word you say, and I take a heavy payment. You 
little fool, do you realise your position? Of your own 
will you come here this afternoon — come to see me at my 
office. Of your own will you come inside — of your own 
will, mark you. And you know my reputation, don’t you? 
What do you think everybody will think? I’ll give them 
cause to think, too, but they’ll only say what could you 
expect. If girls will run after me I can’t help it, and 
I’m no saint.” 

He looked at her for a while in silence, and the insult 
of his glance brought the colour flaming to her face. 

“Come here,” he commanded. “Come and sit by me.” 

For answer she caught the handle of the door in both 
her hands and strove desperately to wrench it open. 

“Getting anxious, hey?” he queried. “So should I 
if I was in your place. I’ll get even with you right away, 
and then I’ll make you help me with the others — that 
chap Ryan, and Lensford. Oh, I’ve got it in for all of 


At the Store 


151 

them, and they’ll all have to pay. Come here, you little 
devil. ” 

Frances was crying now. She hadn’t cried since she 
was a tiny mite, but her utter helplessness now was too 
terribly patent. She began to scream, and to beat on the 
door with her clenched hands. 

Feinbaum rose with a snarl of anger and rushed at her. 
She tried to leap out of his way, but in that tiny room she 
had no chance. He caught her, and laughed as he pressed 
her to him. 

“I’m a cad, am I?” he shouted, and perhaps at that 
moment he was really mad. “Well, I’m going to be a 
cad — an utter, damned cad.” 

He seized her savagely and dragged her across the 
room. Then he thrust her on the couch and stood over 
her. She fought him with all her strength — tore at his 
restraining hands with teeth and nails, and screamed again 
and again for the help she knew would not come. 

He laughed again — laughed devilishly — and bent over 
her. She felt his hot breath on her face, and made one 
last supreme effort to free herself. Then she fell back 
with a gasp of agony, helpless in his iron grip, and half 
fainting. 

And at that moment the help she had thought impos- 
sible appeared. Apparently from somewhere under the 
table a slight, insignificant figure rose, and Jenkins was 
present. 

Anything more unlike the hero of fiction could hardly 
be conceived, for he was dusty and dirty to an almost 
inconceivable extent, and his face was smeared with paint. 
He had an odd, furtive expression, and his whole aspect 
said as plainly as possible that if it could possibly have 
been avoided he would not have shown himself. 

But once he had crawled from the undignified shelter 
of the table, and stood in the middle of the room looking 
at the astounded Feinbaum, his diffidence left him. His 
little eyes showed red and angry, almost like a ferret’s, 
and there was something inexpressibly wicked in the way 
he stood with his head sunk between his shoulders, and 
his teeth gleaming viciously. He was the Cockney again 
— the Cockney of the uttermost slum looking for mischief 
— and he was troubled with no scruples whatsoever. 


The Debt 


152 

“’Ere — you, chuck it,” he shouted. “Yer dirty sneak- 
thief. Gawd blime ! if yer don’t let ’er up I’ll ’ave this in 
yer guts quick an’ lively.” 

He held an open clasp-knife in his hand, and Feinbaum 
stepped back hurriedly. As for Frances, for the first time 
in her life she fainted. 


CHAPTER XV 


JENKINS HERO 

Jenkins was a creation of circumstances. His father 
had been a dock labourer down Poplar way, and he had 
been brought up in a particularly dirty little slum in that 
none too lovely neighbourhood. At a very early age he 
had started earning his own living, and he had picked up 
all the shrewdness and self-confidence which characterise 
the London street gamin. From holding horses and run- 
ning errands, he had eventually become a seller of 
ha’penny newspapers, and it was only when he was almost 
fully grown — and a poor fully grown it was too — that the 
Boer War had broken out, and, in a fit of alcoholic 
enthusiasm, he had enlisted. 

He felt that he was meant for better things than selling 
newspapers, for he was a most ambitious little man ; and it 
was partly owing to the fact that he knew the police were 
beginning to regard him with a hostile eye that he allowed 
his alcoholic enthusiasm to lead him to the barracks. And 
as a soldier he had been quite a success. He was very quick 
and ready, and he was honest enough according to his own 
lights. That these lights were a little peculiar was only to 
be expected, when one remembered his up-bringing. 

But Jenkins had soon become tired of the hardships of 
the field, and when towards the end of the war he was 
reported dead — though as a matter of fact he had merely 
lost himself in the course of an engagement in which he 
had been slightly wounded — he regarded it as an auspici- 
ous opportunity for beginning afresh. He had been held 
captive by the Boers for a time, till they were too much 
occupied with their own troubles to worry about prisoners, 
and when he regained his freedom by the simple expedient 
of allowing himself to be left behind when the commando 
moved on, he cheerfully footed it for a few days till he 
came to a small village, and gave it out that he was an 
itinerant carpenter. 


*53 


The Debt 


154 

It was a small dorp in the Cape Colony where he made 
a fresh start, for he had been engaged on the block-house 
line, and the commando had abandoned him within the 
British sphere of influence. His clothes were not incon- 
sistent with either the period or his tale, for everything 
that was wearable had been confiscated by the Boers, and 
he was clad simply in a pair of ragged khaki trousers, 
an old shirt, and boots whose original shape and quality 
were quite undiscoverable. In that part of the country 
every man was far too much concerned with his own con- 
science to worry about other people, and no embarrassing 
questions were asked. 

By the merest chance Jenkins discovered that he had 
been reported killed in action, and when hostilities were 
over he wrote to a brother of his in England — whose 
name wasn’t Jenkins, by the way — and acquainted him 
with the actual facts of the case. After which he con- 
tinued at his occupation of carpenter till he was able to get 
to Johannesburg. 

Jenkins was a born financial genius. He knew that 
wages were high in Johannesburg, and that money earned 
there could always be spent to much advantage in Eng- 
land. It was a simple creed, but it was exceedingly sound. 
He went to Johannesburg with the firm intention of saving 
as much as he possibly could, and then returning to Eng- 
land to live luxuriously on the proceeds. Regularly every 
month he sent money to the brother whose name was not 
Jenkins, and who was apparently every bit as shrewd as 
the South African representative of the family ; and in 
return he received very badly written accounts of the 
stewardship which appeared to give him the utmost satis- 
faction. He knew he could trust his brother implicitly, 
and he had no fears as to the safety of the money. 

And now he had been with Strauss and Van der Bloom 
for seven years, and it almost made him gasp when he 
thought how really wealthy he was. Most of the time 
he had been earning £2^ a month, and he boarded close 
to the store for per month. He had no expensive 

tastes, and would candidly admit that he didn’t see the 
fun of paying a shilling for a long beer, when by waiting 
a year or two he could get one for tuppence. And it was 
not only his salary that counted. Jenkins had quickly 


J enkins — Hero 155 

realised the possibilities of his position, and he made the 
most of them. In his own way he was perfectly honest 
with the firm, and it would never have occurred to him to 
steal any of the stores, or alter his books to cover any 
manipulation of stocks. But there were so many other 
methods which to his way of thinking were perfectly 
honest, though he would not have mentioned them to his 
principals because he quite understood that they might 
think differently. There were always two sides to a ques- 
tion. Old packing-cases, for instance, found a ready sale 
with certain Peruvian hawkers, who paid cash and did not 
require any receipt. Old sacking was saleable, and old 
iron, and a host of other details, which might have been 
regarded as waste material. And then the produce mer- 
chants and others positively asked him to take two-and-a- 
half per cent, on the monthly account. He wouldn’t stand 
any nonsense from them, and he saw to it that the quality 
of the goods supplied was up to the mark ; but if two- 
and-a-half per cent, was on offer, he was not the man to 
refuse it. And there were many other unostentatious ways 
in which Jenkins, in his own words, made a bit, till he 
knew that he could go home any time he liked and find 
himself the owner of a paying public house near the docks, 
and a really commodious inn on the Great North Road. 
But he stayed on because it seemed to him a positive sin 
to go away from money so easily earned. 

Lensford was perfectly well aware that the little man 
had ways and means of his own for adding to his salary, 
but at the same time he knew he was a capable and effi- 
cient storeman, and that so far as the actual property of 
the firm was concerned, everything was in order. For 
the rest, he had no great opinion of the honesty of 
Johannesburg, and knew that he might easily get a worse 
man than Jenkins. Feinbaum, on the other hand, knew 
quite enough about underhand methods to have a very 
shrewd idea of just how Jenkins was acting, and he had 
already stopped one or two avenues to wealth. Old 
packing-cases were now rigorously accounted for, and 
straw packing had to be sent to the stable to help bed 
down the horses and mules. Needless to say, Jenkins did 
not appreciate this interference. 

And then his chance had come. If Feinbaum had no 


The Debt 


156 

opinion of Jenkins’s honesty, Jenkins had an even worse 
opinion of the rectitude of Feinbaum. He watched him 
whenever he got a chance, and one of the first things he 
discovered was that Feinbaum was doing something funny 
with the Kaffir wages. Every Saturday he would put 
some money in the drawer in his safe, even when Jenkins 
knew perfectly well that all the boys had been paid. It 
was worth following up. Of course there was the matter 
of fines, but he had made inquiries at the office as to that, 
and it didn’t seem to him to explain the business at all. 
So one Saturday afternoon he had proceeded to investi- 
gate; He had been apprenticed in a good school, and it 
was noteworthy that he had not the slightest difficulty with 
either the door of the private office or the lock of the old- 
fashioned safe. It was sufficiently obvious that by some 
means or other he had possessed himself of duplicate keys, 
but then Jenkins had original ideas of right and wrong, 
and held that the end always justified the means. 

Having managed the safe, he opened the drawer inside, 
and discovered a miscellaneous collection of gold and 
silver coins. He counted it, and found it amounted to 
£1^ 45. 6 d. Then he sat down to think it out. But it 
was too much of a puzzle at first, so he took half a 
sovereign to see what would happen, and then locked up 
again, and retired. 

And nothing was said of that half-sovereign. As a 
matter of fact, Feinbaum was in the habit of making 
false entries on his pay-sheets, and then tossing the 
surplus money in that drawer in order that if any inquiry 
was made, his answer would be ready. The boys had 
disappeared, and he was holding the money for them. 
He had started the game some two years before, and 
had come to regard that drawer as his very special petty 
cash. He never knew quite how much was in there, but 
he just helped himself as he wanted it, paid all his inci- 
dental expenses, and knew that he was always safe. 
There was invariably enough to account for any query 
on the last pay-sheet, and something over to be lightly 
alluded to as fines, which he was going to return to the 
office. And it would have been hopeless to hark back 
to older pay-sheets, with the native labour changing as 
it did from week to week. 


J enkins — Hero 157 

But if Feinbaum regarded that drawer as his special 
petty cash, it was something infinitely more precious to 
Jenkins. The latter had a shrewd idea of just what was 
happening, and in his wonderfully spelled letters to his 
brother, whose name was not Jenkins, would gratefully 
allude to that particular source of revenue as his “munny 
from ’ome.” Every week he helped himself, varying his 
toll according to the amount of cash in the drawer. He 
had taken as much as two pounds at a time, and nothing 
had been said. He knew perfectly well that Feinbaum 
was swindling the firm, but that was no business of his. 
The main point was that he himself was making a very 
nice thing out of it, with no risk whatever. It appealed 
to his sense of humour. 

And on the Saturday afternoon when Frances came to 
the store, Jenkins had just entered the office — discreetly 
doing so via the skylight in order to avoid leaving the 
main store door open — it locked on the outside with a 
heavy padlock — when he had heard Feinbaum ’s key rattle 
in the big lock. There was no time for him to make his 
exit by the way he had come, so with a muttered curse 
he had dived under the table — where there was a miscel- 
laneous collection of sheets of i>aper, old sacking, and 
other sundries — and forcing his insignificant stature into 
a convenient corner formed by a row of shelving, had 
waited to see what would happen. 

He had not the least desire to show himself, but as the 
minutes passed, and Feinbaum stood as though waiting 
for somebody, he became very indignant at the position 
in which he found himself, for it was most uncomfortable. 
Several times he almost made up his mind to brazen the 
thing out, but always thought better of it, and decided 
to leave that as a last resource. 

But when Feinbaum brought Frances into the very office 
where he was concealed, and treated her as he did, Jenkins 
had no further doubts as to what he must do. In the 
very worst of us there is a streak of decency which bids 
us go to the assistance of a woman in distress — go with- 
out questioning — and except for his views on some sub- 
jects, Jenkins was quite a nice little man, and undoubtedly 
good-hearted. He waited as long as he dared, hoping 
that nothing would happen, and he need not commit him- 


The Debt 


158 

self; but when Frances screamed for help, and he knew 
that her strength had failed, he hesitated no longer. 
Quivering with rage — and, be it said, also with annoyance 
at his own exposure — he crawled from his dusty hiding- 
place, and appeared as from nowhere at quite the right 
moment. 

For some moments Feinbaum stood regarding the 
apparition before him as though it was due to some super- 
natural agency, and then an evil smile showed on his lips. 
After all, Jenkins was so very small. 

“What the devil are you doing here? ” he demanded. 

Habit was strong in Jenkins. 

“I was passing,” he said, “and I ’eard the young lidy 
a-screaming, so I come in to see wot was up. Wot the 
’ell are you up to? ” 

Feinbaum glanced down at Frances’s white face, as she 
lay unconscious on the couch, and laughed brutally. 

“So you came in to see what was up, did you,” he 
said. “And you are not even wet ! You were hidden in 
here, though how you got in I don’t know.” 

He glanced round, and noticed for the first time that 
the latch of the skylight had been forced back. 

“I see,” he went on. “This will mean gaol for you, 
Jenkins. By the merest chance I bring a lady friend here, 
and find you have been burgling the place. I always had 
my doubts about you.” 

As there was no need for further dissembling, Jenkins 
became more abusive than ever. 

“Ho, did yer,” he said. “And wot abart you? You 
an’ yer bloomin’ native wages ! I bin doing a little 
fossicking on my own account, and I found aht wot I 
wanted to know. Yer low-down, dirty sneak-thief.” 

Feinbaum took a step towards him, and there was 
murder in his glance. 

“Get out,” he shouted. 

The original cause of his appearance had not escaped 
Jenkins’s mind, in spite of the personal tone which had 
been given to the argument. 

“Wot? Git aht? Me?” he demanded. “Oh, come 
orf of it. D’yer think I’m that ere kind? Not arf I ain’t. 
W’en the young lidy goes, I don’t mind shinnin’ aht of 
it myself ; but not before, me bright-eyed, bonny boy.” 


J enkins — Hero 159 

He twirled the knife neglig-ently in his right hand, keep- 
ing a watchful eye on Feinbaum the while. He looked 
more absurdly like a human sparrow than ever as he 
stood there, balancing himself so as to be ready for all 
emergencies. And always the point of the knife was 
towards Feinbaum. 

It was his verj insignificance that urged Feinbaum to 
act. The knife was not a big one, and he could get it 
before any harm was done. 

With a sudden roar of rage he hurled himself at the 
little Cockney, and strove to disarm him. But quick as he 
was, Jenkins was quicker. He leaped nimbly aside, and 
then, being entirely without the finer instincts, struck with 
all his strength at Feinbaum ’s back — struck with every 
intention to kill. 

But for the chance swing of his arm, that blow would 
have effectually removed Feinbaum to another world. As 
it was, the blade caught him just above the wrist, and 
inflicted a long, tearing wound on the forearm. With a 
yell of pain he swmng right round, and before Jenkins 
could strike again, the knife was wrenched from him, and 
flung into a far corner. 

He closed with Feinbaum at once, fighting as he had 
been taught to fight, with hands, feet and teeth. But he 
hadn’t the ghost of a chance with the big man, and the 
next moment was literally hurled against the wooden 
shelving by the table, and fell in a struggling heap on the 
floor. 

It was at that moment that Frances regained con- 
sciousness. She saw her mysterious champion pick him- 
self up, cursing, swearing and blaspheming in a way 
which, fortunately, she could not understand ; while his 
wicked little eyes glanced from end to end of the room in 
search of a weapon of some kind. The blood was run- 
ning from a nasty cut on his forehead, and his clothes 
were torn and covered with dust, but there was nothing 
about him to indicate that he had the least idea of being 
beaten — he was merely suffering from a temporary reverse. 

But it was the blood that frightened her. It seemed to 
be everywhere. Feinbaum, his teeth bared in an evil smile 
as he waited for the next movement of Jenkins, stood in a 
pool of red, for one of the veins in the forearm had been 


i6o 


The Debt 


severed, and the blood was literally pouring out. In the 
recent struggle it had splashed all over the office — on the 
papers on the table, on the wall, even on her dress — and 
she very nearly fainted again at the horror of it. 

It never struck her to doubt for a moment that Jenkins 
was fighting for her. From somewhere incomprehensible 
he had suddenly appeared — perhaps he had heard her 
scream from the road — and he was going to save her. 
She had not the faintest idea who he was, but she was 
quite sure he was going to save her. What mattered his 
insignificant appearance, his incongruous dirtiness? In 
common with most of her sex she had a very real faith in 
heaven in emergencies, and if heaven heard her appeal, 
she was not the one to cavil at the appearance of the 
instrument. 

And then Feinbaum spoke. 

“I’ll give you one more chance, Jenkins,” he said. 
“You know I can do what I like with you, and that if I 
care to hand you over to the police you will get a year or 
two in gaol; but if you like to clear off this minute, and 
— and forget anything you’ve seen, I won’t stop you. 
Go — go before I change my mind.” 

Frances held her breath in sudden and very real appre- 
hension. What if it were true and Feinbaum held this 
power over the little man? What if the latter availed 
himself of this chance of escape, and left her to the will of 
Feinbaum? In her extremity she managed to scramble 
to her feet, with a little gasp of fear. 

But Jenkins hardly noticed what Feinbaum said — cer- 
tainly did not seriously consider it. He had seen the sort 
of weapon he wanted close at hand, and he felt very sure 
of himself. 

“Don’t you worry yerself, missy,” he said; and then 
to Feinbaum: “Oh, come orf of it, will yer? Me and 
the young lidy is going aht together, and just you 
stand back and shut yer fice, or somethink ’ll ’appen to 
yer.” 

For a moment there was a tense silence. Then — 

“Get out at once,” Feinbaum shouted, “or I’ll half kill 
you, you miserable little hound.” 

“Come an’ chuck ’im aht,” Jenkins retorted. “Tawk, 
tawk, tawk! W’y don’t yer do somethink?” 


Tenkins — Hero 


i6i 


Feinbaum rushed at him, and as he did so Jenkins 
reached for a glass on the table. It was an ordinary, 
heavy tumbler, inconceivably dirty and dusty, and had 
probably stood there for weeks. With a lightning move- 
rnent he picked it up, smashed off the upper part by tap- 
ping it sharply against the end of the table, and then held 
it flat in his right hand, with the jagged edges of the break 
facing outwards. 

The whole thing only occupied a fraction of time, and 
then Jenkins went to meet Feinbaum, instead of waiting 
for him. He dodged under the swing of the big man’s 
arm, and struck upwards and forward with all his strength. 
This time he made no mistake. The terrible weapon 
caught Feinbaum fairly in the face, and the little man gave 
a quick turn of the wrist as he felt the blow strike, and 
literally tore the face of the other to ribbons. Then he 
jumped back quickly. 

Feinbaum gave a queer, choking scream, and clutched 
at his torn face with both hands. The pain and the blood 
blinded him, and he had no thought for the moment of 
his terrible little adversary. But Jenkins was taking no 
chances. He leaped nimbly past Feinbaum to the far 
corner of the office, where he knew there was a heavy, 
ebony ruler. Picking this up, he approached Feinbaum 
from behind, and dealt him a smashing blow on the head. 
Feinbaum toppled to the floor, and lay still. 

“There y’are, yer . An’ now ’oo’s goin’ to chuck 

me aht?” Jenkins said cheerfully. “Nice Agger o’ fun 
the girls ’ll think yer now. Knock me abaht, w’ud yer? ” 

He kicked the prostrate form savagely, and then sud- 
denly appeared to remember Frances. 

“It’s orl rite now, missy,” he said. ‘‘Just you come 
along o’ me afore ’e gits narsty again.” 

Frances had been an unwilling spectator of the dreadful 
finale, and she was now whiter than ever. She was not 
in a fit mood to grasp thoroughly the awful brutality of 
the little man, but she had seen Feinbaum’s face before 
he fell. . . . 

“Come on,” Jenkins said again. “ ’Ere, tike my ’and.” 

He thoughtfully extended his left hand, the right being 
covered with Feinbaum’s blood. Frances felt no fear of 
him, but only a sort of wondering amazement that he 

M 


i 62 


The Debt 


should have been able to save her. She took his hand, 
and started unsteadily for the door. 

“But,” she said, with a shudder, “but — won’t he bleed 
to death? ” 

“ ’Im? No great odds if ’e does. But p’raps that arm 
of ’is is a bit bad. ’Old on ’arf a mo’, and I’ll fix it up 
a bit.” 

He left her standing by the door, and, picking up a bit 
of sacking, shook the dust out of it, and then bound it 
tightly round the gashed arm. 

“That’ll do,” he said. “And now come along o’ me to 
the forage store, and see if yer can pull yerself together.” 

He unlocked Feinbaum’s door with a key which he 
produced from his own pocket, and led her outside. It 
was still raining heavily, and the water was running in 
little streams all over the road. 

“We’ll ’ave to mike a run for it,” he went on. “It’s 
only just round the corner.” 

Leaving the main door open, he rushed her to the 
entrance used by the wagons, and so through the cement 
and lime store to the building set apart for produce. He 
unlocked the door of this quickly, and ushered her in. 

Inside the air was sweet with the smell of baled lucerne 
and compressed fodder — doubly sweet after the dust-laden, 
tainted air of that little office. One of the store cats 
hurried forward as they came in, and rubbed himself 
affectionately against Frances. Jenkins took her to the 
far side of the building, where some newly delivered bags 
of oats made a convenient seat. 

“Sit dahn,” he commanded. 

Frances subsided weakly on the bags, made a heroic 
effort to pull her scattered faculties together, and then 
began to laugh hysterically. 

Jenkins did not appreciate the significance of that laugh. 

“You’re a plucky ’un, you are,” he said admiringly, and 
joined in the laugh. “ It was a bit comic the w’y I downed 
’im, wasn’t it? I didn’t ’arf drore it acrorst ’im.” 

Frances caught her breath in a sob, held her throbbing 
head with both her hands, and then quietly fainted again. 

Jenkins regarded her in consternation, and scratched his 
head. 

“Lord lummy, but I am beat this time,” he muttered. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE TALE THAT WAS TOLD 

Jenkins was a man who was at his best in emergencies, 
but for a full minute he stood regarding Frances, and 
made not the slightest attempt to succour her in any way. 
Truth to tell, he had not the vaguest idea as to what he 
was supposed to do, the ladies of his acquaintance being 
of such obviously different calibre from his present com- 
panion. Then he recollected having heard that cold water 
should be thrown in the face of any one who had fainted, 
and, with a little nod of satisfaction, he walked to the 
door. 

He went on tip-toe, as though afraid of disturbing 
Frances in any way before the cold water had had a 
chance. Outside the rain was still roaring down, and it 
was noticeable that Jenkins first washed his hands in a 
convenient puddle before catching some of the water in a 
battered old tin can. It was easy enough to do this, for 
right over the door there was a break in the guttering, 
and a stream of water was rushing through the hole and 
splashing heavily on the soaked earth beneath. 

Having filled the tin, Jenkins returned to Frances and 
again regarded her thoughtfully. Obviously it would not 
do just to dash the water in her face, because it would 
run all over her and drench her clothes. He told himself 
he was not such a fool as all that. So, carefully putting 
the tin down on the floor, he tiptoed away again, and 
returned with a couple of empty sacks. These he tucked 
round Frances, arranging them with a deft tenderness 
strangely at variance with his late exhibition of primitive 
savagery, and stood back to admire his handiwork. 

After that the rest was easy. He leant over her and 
gently allowed the water to trickle over her face. He 
paused once to tuck one of the sacks down her neck, 
because the water seemed to be all running in that direc- 
M 2 163 


The Debt 


164. 

tion ; and in a very short time he had the satisfaction of 
seeing her eyes open and regard him wonderingly. 

Then she sat up with a gasp and a shudder as recol- 
lection swept over her, and he threw the tin away and 
rubbed his hands together delightedly. 

“Yer orl rite now, missy,” he said. “Lor’ love yer, 
but w’en yer went orf like that it ’ad me tied in a knot, 
I give yer my word.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry ” she began. 

“Sorry? Not a bit of it! Reckon you come through 
it a sight better than most of ’em w’ud ’ave. I tell yer 
wot — yer won’t mind if I leaves yer alone ’arf a minnit? ” 

“No — I’m not a bit afraid now.” 

“Good on yer! Well, there’s one of them bloomin’ 
Greek shops close ’andy, and I’ll shin round and git yer 
a cup of steamin’ ’ot tea. That’ll pull yer together.” 

He bustled away without giving her a chance to thank 
him. Something told him that perhaps she would like to 
be alone there for a few minutes — alone with the sweet- 
smelling forage and the very domesticated store cats — 
and he showed a very real tact in the way he managed it. 

Left to herself, Frances began to feel better. Up to 
that dreadful afternoon she had never fainted, and she 
was in a way ashamed of herself. It was a ridiculous 
feeling, but there it was. She would so much have pre- 
ferred to have maintained her courage, and only given 
way in the privacy of her own room. But the ordeal had 
been too severe — too utterly unexpected. She shuddered 
again as she thought of herself alone with the almost 
maniacal Feinbaum, and of what her plight might have 
been had Jenkins not appeared so opportunely. And 
then she began to wonder how and why he came there. 
Of course she did not know who he was, but Feinbaum 
had said something about prison. . . . Curiously enough, 
she felt no fear even at the possibilities conjured up by 
this reflection, for the little man had undoubtedly fought 
on her behalf, and who or what he was mattered not 
at all. 

^ She was feeling much better when Jenkins returned. In 
his right hand he held a big cup of extremely thick china, 
which was presumably full of tea. He had covered it with 
the saucer in order to keep out the rain, and held it by 


The Tale that was Told 165 

the handle. In the other hand he had a plate, on which 
was a slab of very yellow cake. 

“ ’Ere we are again,” he exclaimed cheerfully. As the 
excitement of the fray left him his accent became much 
more normal. “I don’t suppose as you’ll want the cake, 
but the chap in the shop charges sixpence whether you 
’ave it or not, so I thought I’d bring it along. I’ll eat 
it myself if you don’t fancy it. It ain’t good enough to 
let them Greeks get the better of you. Always keep an 
eye on ’em if they offers to give you an ’orse, as them 
furrin chaps says, but w’en you pays, see you gets your 
money’s worth.” 

He put the cup down by her while he was speaking, 
carefully wiping the steamed saucer on some sacking. 
Then from his pocket he produced four pieces of sugar, 
wrapped up in a bit of newspaper, and handed them to her. 

“Some folk take sugar, and some don’t,” he added, 
as he passed it over. 

Frances obediently took the cup and put in three pieces 
of sugar. It really seemed that the hot liquid did her 
good, for 'the colour crept back to her face, and the 
strained expression gradually left her eyes. 

“I don’t know what to say to thank you,” she said, 
when the tea was finished. 

Jenkins waved his hand airily. Having eaten the fourth 
piece of sugar, he was now engaged on the cake. 

“ ’Tain’t anything,” Fe said. “I always wanted to ’ave 
a cut at that ’ere Feinbaum, and it don’t make no odds 
whether it ’appened to-day or next week.” 

“You know him, then?” she asked. 

“Know ’im? Just a few I do? I’m storeman ’ere, 
missy.” 

“ Oh, I see. And by the merest chance you were going 
your rounds ” 

Apparently Jenkins choked over the last fragment of 
cake. He feit no shame for what he had been doing, but 
it struck him as distinctly comic, the view she took. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he replied. “I ’adn’t 
no call to be in ’is private office, miss, but — but there 
was something as I wanted to find out.” 

“I think,” she went on softly, “that God must have 
sent you there,” 


i66 


The Debt 


Jenkins positively blushed. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said modestly. “Just chance 
like. There’s been trouble cornin’ on between ’im and me 
this two year or more.” 

“It was wonderfully brave of you to fight him,” Frances 
maintained. “ He is so very big, and I was afraid he 
would kill you.” 

“’Stead of which I ’arf killed ’im,” Jenkins supple- 
mented. “Now don’t you start in to thank me, missy, 
because it was a real pleasure to me to ’ave a go at ’im. 
’E ’adn’t the ghost of a show from the word ‘go,’ and 
it was only ’is luck which let ’im get that one in at me. 
Bumped me ’ead a bit, and bent in a rib or two ; but I 
ain’t so soft as all that.” 

He stopped suddenly and listened. The rain had nearly 
ceased, and from the direction of the road the snarling 
rattle of a just-started motor engine could be distinctly 
heard. Jenkins grinned knowingly. 

“There ’e goes,” he remarked. “Come to pretty soon, 
but then I didn’t ’it ’im as ’ard as I might ’ave. But I 
wonder what yarn ’e’ll spin, an’ what ’e’ll look like driving 
along with ’is face all in ’oles. Bet ’e’ll keep to the back 
ways till ’e finds a doctor.” 

Frances touched him on the arm. 

“Don’t!” she begged. “I can’t bear to think what 
he looked like. ... It was awful.” 

“Sorry, missy.” Jenkins was plainly perturbed. “I 
didn’t mean to upset you, and if I was you, an’ ’e’d 
be’aved to me like ’e done to you, I’d be glad to think of 

’im with his face But never mind about that now. 

It’s good-bye to Johannesburg for your ’umble.” 

“Does that mean you’ll have to go because of what 
happened this afternoon? ” Frances asked. It seemed to 
her monstrous that the fact that he had fought for her 
should have brought about his downfall ; but of course she 
did not know the full facts of the case. 

“Yes.” He noticed her expression, and went on cheer- 
fully : “ I was going next month in any case, miss. Me 
an’ that ’ere Feinbaum never could ’it it off, and on’y 
last week I was sayin’ to young Ryan — ’im as ’elps me 
in the store — as ’ow I was goin’ away to England next 
month at latest.” 


The Tale that was Told 167 

“I know Mr. Ryan,” Frances interpolated. 

Jenkins did not seem altogether pleased. 

“Well,” he went on, “as soon as you feel a bit more 
fit I’ll walk with you to the car, if you don’t mind; an’ 
then I better git my traps together, and by the nine o’clock 
mail it’s me for Capetown, ’ome and beauty.” 

“But must you go?” Frances said. “I feel somehow 
that it is because of me — that it is all my fault. But 
surely Mr. Feinbaum dare not say anything.” 

“Not ’im ! ’E’d lie low for a spell, and then ’e’d fake 
up something against me, and I’d find myself in Queer 
Street. Or maybe ’e’d ’ire some one to knife me one of 
these nights. I wouldn’t trust ’im no further than I could 
kick ’im.” 

“It seems so unfair,” she insisted. “You save me 
from that awful man, and fight for me in a tremendously 
bra\e way, and get hurt, and now you have to run away.” 

“Look ’ere, missy,” Jenkins remarked confidentially. 
“You don’t know all there is to know about this little 
trouble, an’ maybe it ain’t anything to do with you. But 
I give you my word it’ll be far ’ealthier for me to quit, 
and I’m going to quit before anything ’appens. I’ll just 
see if I can get ’old of young Ryan, and tell ’im ” 

Frances stopped him with a gesture. The devilish skill 
with which men like Feinbaum lay their plans was sud- 
denly apparent to her, for she simply couldn’t face the 
ordeal of exposure. She knew only too well the sort of 
credence her story would receive. Most people would ask 
— and ask very naturally too — what she was doing there 
with him. It was a question which would be very diffi- 
cult to answer. Other people again would shrug their 
shoulders and say that if Jenkins hadn’t happened on the 
scene nothing would ever have been said. Her own step- 
mother would certainly have propounded the question and 
. . . shrugged her shoulders ! Ethel would openly have 
disbelieved her — or pretended to. And she shrank in- 
stinctively from any inquiry into the facts — an inquiry 
which could not but reflect on her afterwards ; for there 
are some insults the very admission of which is a degrada- 
tion. She might confide in Maggie — of all her world only 
Maggie would understand — but Maggie was a broken 
reed, for her nature was fundamentally weak. And even 


i68 


The Debt 


with Magi^ic’s support the word of Feinbaum would weigh 
heavily against them ; and she realised the unscrupulous 
nature of the man well enough to know that he would 
have a perfectly plausible story to account for everything. 
Perhaps she had been wrong to champion Maggie as she 
had, but men of Feinbaum’s stamp had been unknown to 
her, and she had been so perfectly sure that there was 
nothing to fear. As it was, her hands were tied — in very 
self-defence her lips were sealed. For whereas the shouts 
of a multitude about a man’s morals do him no particular 
harm, one little whisper is sufficient to wreck the reputa- 
tion of a woman. 

“No,” she said slowly, “I don’t want you to say any- 
thing to Mr. Ryan. I — I want you to promise you will 
never say a word to anybody.” 

Jenkins looked at her shrewdly with his little, twinlding 
eyes, and for once in a way was very wide of the mark. 

“Oh, right you are,” he assented. “P’raps you ’adn’t 
no more call to be at the store than I ’ad, but you ’adn’t 
found ’irn out till to-day. Don’t you never trust yourself 
with no man in this ’ere town, miss, unless there are 
others ’andy to come when you call. But I won’t give 
nothing away. I ain’t been too keen on talking about it 
myself, come to that; and that ’ere Feinbaum will tell a 
very different tale to explain ’is face.” 

Frances thanked him and prepared to go. She felt 
unutterably tired and beaten, for it seemed to her that 
Feinbaum ought at all costs to be exposed, and yet she 
dared not tell her tale. Her helplessness almost frightened 
her. 

Jenkins opened the door and looked out. 

“It’s give over raining now,” he remarked. “If you 
see young Ryan you might tell ’im as ’ow I’m leavin’ 
by the nine o’clock to-night. But of course you can’t. 
’E’d want to know where you met me, wouldn’t ’e? I’ll 
just write ’im a bit of a note tellin’ ’im to put in for the 
job of storeman, and say as I’ve ’ad to quit sudden like 
owing to a bit of a dust up with Feinbaum. ’E’ll under- 
stand.” 

He splashed along beside her in the muddy road, past 
the main entrance to the store, which was now locked 
again, and up the little side road which led to the tram 


The Tale that was Told 169 

route. It seemed to Frances that her faculties had been 
benumbed, and that only now was she really beginning to 
appreciate how much the little man had done for her. She 
strove to thank him, strove with awkward, half-formed 
sentences which he interrupted with cheerful rudeness, 
for at least he could understand her in this. Moreover, 
he really did not want any thanks. He was thoroughly 
satisfied with himself, and was delighted to have had such 
a very real excuse for levelling up scores with Feinbaum. 
In all probability he would eventually have resorted to the 
expedient of attacking Feinbaum from behind one dark 
night, in the ordinary course of events ; for he had very 
elementary ideas on some subjects, and he was quite 
determined that he had a grievance. But this picturesque 
finale was so very much nicer. He felt quite a hero. 

“ I told you before, miss,” he said, “that it was nothing. 
Bit of a picnic for me, and no ’arm done. I’ll forget all 
about it as you ask me, and seeing as you don’t know 
my name, and I don’t know yours, we ain’t neither of us 
likely to let on. ’Ere comes your tram, and before you 
go I should Uke to shake ’ands with you, missy.” 

He rubbed his right hand very thoroughly on the leg ol 
his trousers, and then solemnly took her fingers in his own. 

“Good luck to you, miss,” he said, and watched her as 
she boarded the car. Then he turned briskly and hurried 
back to the store. 

“Since I got to go to-night,” he murmured, “I may 
just as well take the rest of the cash in that drawer. 
Best part of fifteen quid there was, and old Feinbaum 
can’t say anything about it. Wot a picnic ! ” 

For in some ways he was a very crude little person ; 
and yet it was he who had fought for virtue in distress. 

As for Frances, there was little outward indication of 
the storm within her when she reached home. Ethel was 
sitting on the front verandah, and looked at her sharply 
as she came up the steps. She noticed that Frances 
walked as though she was tired. 

“Did you enjoy yourself? ” she asked. 

Frances regarded her with raised brows. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

“Oh, I know perfectly well that you’ve been interfering 
about Maggie, Just as if she isn’t old enough to fight 


The Debt 


170 

her own battles ! And she only wanted to get you out of 
the way so that she could have Ryan all to herself. She 
has gone out with him.” 

“Has she?” Frances answered indifferently, and passed 
into the bedroom. 

Ethel frowned. She was quite sure that something had 
happened that afternoon, but she could get no further. 
Maggie had flatly refused to answer any questions as to 
whether she was going to keep her appointment that after- 
noon, and it might even be that she had induced Ryan to 
take her. On the other hand, why had Frances gone out 
without saying anything, and why had she returned look- 
ing older somehow, and so tired ? 

With a little gesture of annoyance she put down her 
book and followed her stepsister into the house. 

She discovered Frances seated on her bed, gazing 
unseeingly at the wall in front of her. 

“Can I do anything for you, Frances?” she asked in 
her very kindest voice. 

Frances shook her head miserably. 

“No, thank you,” she answered politely. She knew 
perfectly well that Ethel was seeking information, and she 
was in no mood to be cross examined. 

“I thought you seemed to have a headache,” Ethel 
resumed, “and if you like you may have some of my 
eau de Cologne. Shall I get it for you? ” 

“Yes, please,” Frances said. It seemed ungracious to 
refuse, and she really had a headache. 

Ethel unlocked her own special drawer — she was very 
careful about her possessions — and found the bottle. 

“Now lie down,” she commanded, “and let me rub your 
forehead. That’s right. I’m so sorry we had that row 
before lunch, Frances, but Maggie is always sneering 
about Rudolf, and lately you seem to have been taking 
her part. But there was no call for me to flare up like 
I did, because if he did tell her she must meet him it was, 
of course, very wrong of him. But somehow I think 
Maggie must have misunderstood him, especially as he is 
practically engaged to me. I’ll ask him about it next 
time I see him. Where did you go this afternoon ? ” 

“Oh, just down town. I don’t feel like talking now, 
Ethel, so if you’ll leave me I’ll just try to doze a bit, and 


The Tale that was Told 17 1 

I dare say I shall be quite well in half-an-hour or so. It’s 
not a bit like me to have headaches. Thanks awfully for 
doctoring me.” 

‘‘I like it,” Ethel replied. “It seemed to me that you 
had something on your mind, and if I could help you I 
should love to. You didn’t go to meet Rudolf — instead 
of Maggie? ” 

Frances hated to lie directly, so she temporised. 

“ Why should I ? ” she asked. 

“I don’t know. It struck me you might. I know how 
you always stick up for Maggie. But you mustn’t believe 
all she says, you know. She is very deceitful sometimes, 
and you don’t know her as well as I do. Mother will 
tell you how deceitful she is.” 

“None of us is perfect,” Frances said patiently. “But 
I really don’t feel like talking, Ethel, so if you will leave 
me alone.” 

Ethel rose with a sigh of virtuous resignation. 

“Very well,” she said, “if you won*t let me help you.” 

She restored the eau de Cologne to its customary hiding- 
place, looked w’ith much interest at a very indifferent 
picture which had been hanging in exactly the same place 
on the wall ever since Frances could remember; and then, 
finding that her stepsister showed no signs of relenting, 
went back to the verandah and her book. 

And she had been there less than an hour when she 
received another surprise. Maggie returned from her 
walk with Ryan, and the latter was holding her hand, and 
exhibiting other unmistakable signs of a proprietary in- 
terest. The expression of absolute happiness on Maggie’s 
pretty little face would have been sufficient indication for 
Ethel in any case, and her morbid nature rose in revolt 
because she herself was not yet in a position to have an 
official announcement. 

Maggie dashed up the steps and threw her arms im- 
pulsively round her sister. 

“Oh, Ethel,” she exclaimed. “Guess — ^guess what has 
happened.” 

Ethel looked from her radiant sister to the embarrassed 
bulk of Ryan in the background, and smiled brightly. 

“I don’t think it is very hard to guess,” she said. “Am 
I to congratulate you, Mr. Ryan?” 


172 The Debt 

“Yes,” he answered. “Your sister has promised to 
marry me.” 

“I’m so glad. Come then, Mr. Ryan, you may give 
me a sisterly — or brotherly — kiss. I hoped to have you 
for a brother, for really one often feels the necessity of 
a brother here ; and now it will be so nice to feel I may 
come to you when I want anything. And of course we 
must all call you by your Christian name now. What is 
it? Harry? I love that name. Mother will be very 
pleased too, for I know she thinks quite a lot of you. 
And do you think you will like me as a sister?” 

She smiled at him pleasantly, and, more embarrassed 
than ever, he bent down and touched her forehead with 
his lips. 

Maggie felt an odd little thrill of apprehension, for 
somehow she did not like the way her sister had accepted 
the news. Her congratulations had all been so very much 
from her own standpoint, and she had been a little too 
affable. Maggie had a very real fear of her sister’s 
cleverness in some ways, and she distrusted her most of 
all when she was too nice. 

“Is Frances in?” she asked. 

“Yes. She is in our room, lying down because she has 
a headache. Just run in and tell her, Maggie dear, and 
I will talk to Harry.” 

Maggie seemed a little dubious. Her new-found happi- 
ness was so very precious that she grudged even a moment 
away from Ryan ; and yet she felt she must see Frances. 

“ I won’t be a minute, Harry dear,” she said, and dashed 
into the house. 

Frances sat up on the bed when she came in, and one 
glance at the happy face of her stepsister prepared her 
for the announcement. 

“Oh, Frances — darling — he has asked me to marry him, 
and — and he’s the most perfect man in the world,” Maggie 
cried, almost before she was in the room. 

“I am glad,” Frances replied enthusiastically. “He’s 
such a dear, solid sort of man, isn’t he, Mag? And 
you’ll be able to go to him with all your little troubles, 
and never be worried any more. And stepmother will be 
so pleased at your capture that she won’t dare to row 
you again. And I think you’re jolly lucky to get such a 


The Tale that was Told 173 

man ; and I think he’s even luckier to get you. Maggie, 
my child, I could even go and hug Ethel because I’m 
so delighted.” 

“I knew you would be delighted. And you can’t think 
how I feel, Frances. I didn’t think anybody could love 
as much as I do, and it makes me feel all thrilly, and 
perfectly, gloriously happy. I want to sing and dance, 
and at the same time I feel I want to creep away and 
cry by myself, because it is so sort of solemn. Does that 
sound silly?” 

“Not a bit, dear. You don’t want to look upon it only 
as a kind of joke. And I suppose you’ll let me look at 
him sometimes — from a distance — without wanting to tear 
me into tiny pieces? And what does Ethel think of it?” 

Maggie’s face clouded a little. 

‘‘1 don’t quite know,” she admitted. “She was very 
nice, but she seemed to only look on him as her brother, 
and not as my fiance. It’s horrid of me to say that, 
because I’m sure she only meant to be kind to him. But 
I forgot. What happened this afternoon? Did you see 
him? ” 

Frances hesitated for the fraction of a second. In the 
face of Maggie’s present happiness it seemed so unkind 
to introduce a jarring note. And if she told the truth she 
knew perfectly well how Maggie would worry for having 
let her take her place that afternoon. 

“Yes, I saw him,” she said slowly. “And — and I gave 
him a jolly good talking to.” 

“Oh, you brave dear! What did you say?” 

“ I told him he was a cad, and lots of other things. But 
don’t let’s talk about him now. I haven’t really got a 
headache, so I’ll come on to the verandah and congratu- 
late the happy man. Only don’t ever say anything about 
my having gone instead of you to-day — especially to 
Ethel.” 

Maggie looked a little puzzled. 

“Did he do anything?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Do anything? How could he? He’s a loathsome 
toad, Maggie, so we won’t talk about him another 
moment. Oh, I’m so deliciously glad you’re going to be 
happy. Come along.” 

They went on to the verandah, where Ethel was 


The Debt 


174 

prattling away to Ryan, principally about the colour of 
some new trimming which was on view in the window of 
a shop in town. He was so obviously glad to see Maggie 
again that Frances very nearly laughed outright as she 
congratulated him ; but his pleasure suffered a shock when 
Ethel suggested that he should go and ask her mother’s 
sanction to the engagement. 

“I’ll come with you, Harry,” Maggie said valiantly, for 
she knew that the news would be very welcome at head- 
quarters, as it were, and she yearned for her mother’s 
approbation. 

And so the engagement was definitely accomplished. 
Mrs. Harris was so unfeignedly delighted that Ryan felt 
he must have misjudged the good lady. He had no idea 
that exaggerated rumours of the tale he knew Lensford 
had started had reached the house, and honestly thought 
that Mrs. Harris accepted him thus willingly on his own 
merits. He was flattered and made much of, though all 
he wanted was to be left alone with Maggie, and Maggie 
had precisely similar views. But it never seemed to occur 
to either Mrs. Harris or Ethel that such could possibly be 
the case, and they bustled round him, and said nice things 
to him, till it was dinner-time. 

Douglas — the bank man — came in at dusk to find them 
all laughing and talking in the dining-room, and his 
congratulations were evidently sincere. 

“ But I’m afraid I’ve got some rather bad news for you,” 
he said, when they had settled down again. 

“Bad news?” Mrs. Harris queried. She thought that 
possibly Douglas had decided on fresh quarters. 

“Yes. I was playing tennis at the hospital this after- 
noon with some of the doctors. About five o’clock Mr. 
Feinbaum drove up in his car, and he was cut about rather 
badly. Nothing serious, you know, but he will be a bit 
scarred, I understand, and laid up for a few days. It 
appears that he was driving quickly to dodge the storm 
we had, and a little girl suddenly rushed across the road 
right in front of him. Rather than run over her he turned 
the car sharply, and dashed right into a tree by the side 
of the road. He had the wind-screen up, and the jar threw 
him right through it. His face was rather badly cut about, 
and he has a nasty gash in one arm. But he must be 


The Tale that was Told 175 

jolly plucky. When he knew that the little girl was 
unhurt, he just got a bit of sacking and bound up his arm, 
and then wound his handkerchief round his face, and drove 
himself to the hospital. They’ve got all the glass out of 
his face now, and he’s going on famously.” 

There was a little silence, and then Ethel stood up. 

“Isn’t that like Rudolf?” she exclaimed dramatically. 
“ It was to save the little girl, you see ; and then to drive 
himself to the hospital like that. Oh, I must go to him.” 

“Don’t be silly, Ethel,” her mother said practically. 
“ How can you go rushing off to see a man in hospital 
when you aren’t even engaged to him?” 

Evidently the glamour of Maggie’s engagement was on 
the good lady, and her opinion of Ethel had suffered in 
consequence. 

But it was Frances who was most affected by the news. 
She had no idea that Feinbaum would account thus cleverly 
for his injuries, and the wicked injustice of it was 
altogether too much for her. 

“Who told you this wonderful tale? ” she demanded. 

Douglas did not look at her. One of the doctors who 
had attended to the injuries was a personal friend of his, 
and doctors are not fools. 

“Mr. Feinbaum himself told the doctors,” he answered 
gravely. 

“Of course he would,” Frances said scornfully. “But 
it’s a lie — a cruel, wicked lie.” 

She hurried from the room, conscious that in her over- 
wrought state she had said far more than she intended. 

But it was Ethel herself who allayed any possible 
suspicion in her mother’s mind. 

“Isn’t it too ridiculous how jealous she is,” she 
exclaimed, and laughed shrilly. 

But Maggie, with a rather scared look on her face, 
rose quietly and went after her stepsister. 


CHAPTER XVII 


CONCERNING MATRIMONY 

Monday is mail day in Johannesburg — the day on which 
the European post-bag must be made up for despatch by 
special train in the evening to catch the mail steamer at 
Capetown. The business community keeps mail day far 
more religiously than it does the Sabbath, or even Christ- 
mas, and till four o’clock in the afternoon the typists are 
kept working at top pressure, and the principals sit behind 
locked doors and are in to nobody. Firms whose English 
correspondence is limited to about a couple of letters a 
week take themselves every bit as seriously as the big 
houses for which Johannesburg is noteworthy — or notori- 
ous, if you will — and though there is often no occasion for 
the appearance of bustle and excitement, it adds to the 
importance of the day, and hurts nobody. 

Lensford made a practice of arriving at the office by 
nine o’clock on Mondays, because it had become a habit. 
There was really no other reason, for he was careful to 
have any European matters which affected his department 
settled on the Saturday ; but habit is stronger than either 
duty or inclination. Mr. Strauss was wont to be in town 
by about eight-thirty on mail day, with Mr. Van der Bloom 
very soon after him ; and it was probably owing to this that 
Lensford had developed the habit when he joined the firm. 

On the Monday after the fight in the store he arrived 
at the usual time, to find the office in a state of subdued 
excitement. The boy was on the watch for him, and told 
him that Mr. Strauss desired to see him immediately, so 
he strolled unconcernedly to the office of the senior partner 
and knocked at the door. 

“Ah — good-morning, Lensford, good-morning,” Mr. 
Strauss said affably, when he saw who had ventured to 
disturb him. “I suppose you’ve heard about the chapter 
of accidents? Feinbaum laid up through running into a 

176 


Concerning Matrimony 177 

tree with his motor, and now I get a letter from Jenkins 
saying that an uncle of his in Australia has cabled for him, 
and that he had to leave for Durban on Saturday night. 
Most inconsiderate of him ! He says that your young 
friend — what’s his name? — Ryan, understands the work 
thoroughly, and that everything is in order at the store. 
Could you find time to run down there at once and see how 
things stand? If Ryan is capable, it is only fair that he 
should take Jenkins’s place, and we could get a youth to 
help him. No need to pay more than fifteen pounds, I 
think. Here is the letter — most extraordinary effort I 
think I have ever seen. He begins ‘ Hon. Sir,’ and ends 
‘ Yours respeck.’ I really can’t understand some of the 
spelling at all. Perhaps you’ll see what you can make 
of it.” 

He passed the letter over, and Lensford perused it with 
a smile at the quaint phraseology of the late storeman. 
But at least it was explicit, and Jenkins had explained at 
length how the various orders stood, and what had to be 
done at once. 

“ It seems clear enough,” he said, when he had mastered 
the intricacies of the language. ‘‘I’ll run down and see 
how Ryan is shaping, and I have no doubt he will manage 
easily enough. He’s no fool. But I’m sorry Jenkins has 
had to quit. He was a smart little chap, and has been 
with us so many years.” 

“He has indeed,” Mr. Strauss assented. “Apart from 
the fact that his hurried and unauthorised departure incon- 
veniences us somewhat, I also am sorry he has gone. I 
should have liked to signify my appreciation of his services 
in some tangible form.” 

“Well, it can’t be helped now,” Lensford replied philo- 
sophically. “ He wouldn’t have gone like this unless there 
was something pretty good waiting for him at the other 
end. And what about Feinbaum?” 

“Oh, he’s going on well enough. Van der Bloom will 
see to his work in the meantime, and as we are not very 
busy just now, I dare say we shall manage somehow. 
Sorry to have to trouble you, Lensford. Were you going 
anywhere in particular this morning? Or have you many 
letters to write?” 

“There’s nothing much doing,” Lensford said. “It will 
N 


The Debt 


178 

not inconvenience me in the slightest ; and, as you know, 
I take an interest in Ryan, and would rather like to tell 
him he can qualify for chief storeman, with an increased 
salary to if he proves satisfactory. I suppose that’s 
all right? ” 

“Certainly. If you think he’s worth the extra money, 
give it him by all means. Only don’t let him think that 
he will receive another rise for at least a year.” 

As it was his custom to remain at the office on Monday 
mornings, Lensford’s car was not waiting for him. He 
accordingly hailed a cab, driven by a Cape boy, and drawn 
by a pair of disreputable, ungroomed horses, from the 
rank close by the main entrance to the building. 

When the cab drew up by the kerb he looked at it with 
much disgust, and tossed the boy a shilling. 

“No,” he said decidedly. “You evidently belong to the 
pre-war days — why, upon my word I believe you’re a 
second-class cab. In any case, go away.” 

Many of the so-called cabs in Johannesburg are smart 
enough to please the most fastidious — but there are others. 
Hansoms are few and far between, but the ordinary 
victoria, or landau, drawn by quite a good pair of horses, 
and kept in a state of creditable cleanliness, is the usual 
type of vehicle plying for hire. At least, it was before the 
taxi arrived on the scene. 

Having declined the one cab, Lensford thought he might 
as well walk to the post office, and see if there were any 
letters in his private box. Most of his correspondence 
was addressed to the office, but one or two of his more 
intimate friends used the private box. 

He walked leisurely down Commissioner Street, and 
turned into Rissik Street. As he did so a flurry of wind 
came from the direction of the Market Square, bringing 
with it bits of dirty paper, wisps of straw, and other 
oddments, in a haze of choking red dust. He turned his 
back, and swore softly. 

“And this is the heart of the largest city in South 
Africa,” he murmured. “Why in heaven’s name do I stay 
here? Nothing but dust, dust, all day and everyi day. 
And not ordinary dust, either, but stuff with serrated 
edges— bits of crushed quartz, and selections from the 
cyanide dumps. No wonder we die young.” 


Concerning Matrimony 179 

In the face of that annoying wind he changed his mind 
again, and hailed another cab. This one happening to 
be a more modern specimen, he got in, and told the driver 
to take him to the store. 

He found Ryan going about his duties as though 
nothing unusual had occurred. He had found a note in 
the store from Jenkins, briefly stating that he had had a 
“bit of a dust-up with that ’ere Feinbaum,” and begging 
him to keep quiet about it. Therefore he set the boys to 
work loading up the orders which had come in on 
Saturday, and troubled himself no further as to what had 
occasioned the “dust up.” As a matter of fact he was not 
in the mood to grieve over the misfortunes of others, 
because he had spent a most perfect week-end with his 
lady, and his mind was still full of the wonder of it all. 
She was so dainty, and so extraordinarily beautiful, that 
he was filled wdth a sense of intense astonishment at his 
own presumption in having dared to ask her to marry 
him. But she had seemed so sad and worried that after- 
noon, that his wish to help her had overcome his diffi- 
dence ; and after the first awkward, halting words, the 
rest had been easy. And now she was definitely pledged 
to him, and, no matter what happened, she would always 
be his. It was too incredibly glorious to be realised all 
at once. 

He looked up with a smile of greeting as Lensford came 
into the yard, and held out his hand. 

“Morning, Mr. Lensford,” he said. 

“Good-day, Ryan. Tm here on business.” 

Owing to Ryan’s earnest entreaty, he was always careful 
to particularise as to whether he came as a friend or an 
employer to the store. 

Ryan nodded, and waited further instructions. 

“I suppose you’ve heard that Jenkins has quitted?” 
Lensford went on. 

“Yes.” 

“Gone to America to see his sister. Is that what he 
told you ? ” 

“No.” 

Ryan did not seem inclined to pursue the subject, and 
Lensford laughed lightly. 

“It isn’t what he told us either,” he admitted. “He 


N 2 


i8o 


The Debt 


says he is going to Australia, but, frankly, I don’t believe 
him a little bit. There’s something queer about the whole 
business. I knew him rather well, and used to get him 
to talk to me; but he never said a word about Australia. 
Still, it’s none of my business, and I was only asking out 
of vulgar curiosity' — I haven’t the slightest intention of 
interfering with him in any way.” 

“No you don’t interfere,” Ryan remarked quietly. 

“I wonder if Feinbaum’s accident and Jenkins’s disap- 
pearance are connected in any way,” Lensford said, and 
shot a quick glance at Ryan. 

“I wonder,” Ryan answered simply. 

Lensford laughed again. 

“You can be dashed obtuse when you like, Ryan,” he 
said. “And now we’ll drop the employer and talk plea- 
santly. I’ve come to tell you that you can have Jenkins’s 
job,, if you seem equal to it. You won’t get the same 
salary, but we’ll raise you to twenty-five next month. You 
can have a man to assist you if you like, though, to tell 
you the truth, I don’t think you need one. Is it a go? ” 

“It’s awfully good of you, Mr. Lensford,” Ryan replied 
gratefully. “ Of course I know I have to thank you for 
this.” 

“Not at all, dear chap. Jenkins put in such a glowing 
testimonial on your behalf, in a letter he wrote to the 
firm, that it was a foregone conclusion. Nothing what- 
ever to do with me.” 

Ryan was smiling meditatively. 

“It’ll be quite useful — twenty-five,” he said. 

Now Lensford knew nothing whatever of Ryan’s en- 
gagement, and it occurred to him that this would be a 
good opportunity for speaking the word in season. For 
some time he had been trying to indicate, in a delicate 
way, the folly of matrimony to Ryan, for he had seen 
how the latter regarded Maggie; but hitherto he had not 
found a chance. He knew perfectly well that if Ryan tied 
himself to Maggie, he also tied himself to Johannesburg 
for good and all, and he was essentially unsuited to the 
place. Lensford had a very kind heart, and the thought 
of Ryan toiling on, year after year, in the middle of a 
dusty city, when he was so obviously meant for the free life 
of the wilds, filled him with dismay. He blamed himself 


Concerning Matrimony i8i 

entirely for having contributed to the possible catastrophe, 
and his motives in trying to avert it were quite disinter- 
ested. He did not think for a moment that Ryan really 
loved Maggie, or that she really loved him ; love was not a 
factor one usually considered in Johannesburg. Possibly 
Ryan was infatuated for the time being, but that was all. 

“ I have known young idiots here who thought they 
could marry on that amount,” he said casually. 

Ryan had been on the point of announcing his own 
engagement, but the remark arrested his attention. 

“And couldn’t they?” he asked. 

“Couldn’t they ! My dear chap, of course they couldn’t. 
Do you read the Sunday papers? Only yesterday there 
was an account of the trial of poor little Shaw, for theft 
by conversion. I used to know Shaw. He was book- 
keeper for Sands & Sands, the big soft goods merchants 
here, and he had quite a decent position. He was draw- 
ing thirty-five a month, so he got married a little over 
two years ago. He showed me at the time how he had 
worked it all out, and on paper it looked feasible. £jo 
per month for a house, £ 4 . for a girl, £ 1 ^ for the monthly 
accounts, and that left ;^6 clear for dress and other luxuries. 
And at first it worked out even better, for his wife was 
a capable little body, and got the house accounts down to 
£ 12 . Then she got ill. You have to reckon on doctors’ 
bills for your wife in this beastly place just as much as 
you would allow for rent or milk. And then there was a 
baby, and that just about put the finishing touch to the 
drama. In the evidence it appeared that Shaw had paid 
about ;^200 for doctors in the two years, for there was 
another baby recently, and babies cost money. He was 
a conscientious little chap, and he tried desperately to pay 
his way, instead of telling the doctors to whistle for their 
accounts, in the approved manner. And in the end he 
borrowed a little money from the firm to help him through 
— and then he borrowed a little more. It was only about 
;^300 in all, and the firm did not press for a conviction 
when they ascertained the facts of the case. But, of 
course, little Shaw is finished, and heaven only knows 
what will become of him and the family.” 

Lensford did not add that at the moment he was sup- 
porting the family, for he considered that irrelevant. 


i 82 


The Debt 


though it was true enough. He looked searchingly at 
Ryan, and was pleased to see that he had made an 
impression. 

“And that was on thirty-five, mind you,” he went on. 
“ Leaving sentiment out of it, a man has absolutely no 
right to think of marrying here till he’s getting about 
a month — and no chance of the job fizzling out either. 
You can easily work it out for yourself — house rent, and 
servants, and doctors’ bills, and clothes, and so forth. 
It’s a positive crime to lure a girl into marrying you, and 
then not be able to keep her, and that’s the cause of all 
the unhappy unions you see up here. Think what a 
responsibility you take, Ryan, when you rob a girl of her 
home and parents, as it were, and contract to keep her 
for the rest of her life. Think of watching her growing 
paler and paler, and pluckily refusing to admit she is ill 
because she knows you simply can’t afford to pay a doctor. 
Think of the expense of having even a small family. And 
all the time a man is never sure from day to day here 
whether the firm he is with is safe for his month’s salary. 
This is a town of change, and the change is going to hit 
the married man every time.” 

Ryan was more than sufficiently impressed now, and 
there was a note of wistful entreaty in his voice when he 
spoke. It seemed as if he was begging Lensford to say 
that it was all a joke. 

“But — but I can live on ^12 a month,” he said. 

“ Of course you can. And there are girls here who live 
on ^10, or even less. But, owing to the rotten conditions 
of life here, it costs a lot more to keep two together than 
to keep them separately. Quaint, isn’t it? Remember 
that the girl who lives on ;^io a month can always find 
young fellows who are only too delighted to take her to 
dances, or the bioscope, and other amusements. When 
she’s a married woman, the husband is expected to do 
that. Also, think what the house rent means. Some 
young couples take in a lodger to help things along, and 
you know how that answers. And even at a boarding- 
house they will charge more for a married couple than 
for two single men, because the woman is at the house 
all day, and gets in the way. And before you know where 
you are the babies begin to arrive. ... I believe each 


Concerning Matrimony 183 

baby means an outlay of at least fifty pounds, what with 
doctors and nurses. It absolutely beats me how men have 
the presumption to marry here.” 

Ryan knocked his pipe out against the side of a packing- 
case. He had never given the financial aspect of matri- 
mony a thought, and, indeed, he was very unworldly in 
money matters. Only the previous Saturday he had 
hurried to town to buy an engagement ring, and had 
taken one costing thirty pounds. The jeweller knew him 
as a friend of Lensford’s, and obligingly told him he need 
not worry about paying just then. And now his conduct 
appealed to him in quite a new light, for there were those 
other bills too. He didn’t know just what they came to, 
but altogether it must be about a hundred pounds. 

A hundred pounds ! How could he ever hope to pay it 
off? And only yesterday Mrs. Harris had said that she 
did not believe in long engagements, and he had cordially 
agreed with her. He had thought that they would be 
able to manage quite easily on what he was earning, for 
he had made up his mind to ask for a rise at the end of 
the year. And now he had got the rise — an even bigger 
one than he would have asked for — and for the first time 
he realised how pitifully inadequate it was. Even without 
those debts to hamper him he was not justified in marry- 
ing, and in the present circumstances it was absolutely 
preposterous. He could see it so clearly now. He pictured 
Maggie’s pretty little face getting thinner and thinner, 
and imagined the heart-breaking efforts to make both 
ends meet. He could almost hear her upbraiding him 
for having taken her to lead such a life, and in the end 
she would, of course, hate him. What a blind fool he had 
been — what a blind, selfish fool. 

He stood up abruptly, and noticed that Lensford was 
regarding him curiously. 

“I’m sorry,” he said — “sorry I didn’t know all this 
before, Mr. Lensford. You see, when I’ve been with you 
you’ve always refused to let me pay for anything, and 
somehow I’m not much good at thinking about money.” 

“But what does it matter? ” Lensford replied cheerfully. 
“ I only told you about poor little Shaw to show you what 
it costs to keep a wife here.” 

“But it does matter,” Ryan said heavily. “You see, 


The Debt 


184 

I’m engaged to Maggie Harris, and — and she thinks we 
are to be married in a few months.” 

It was out now, and Lensford was for once completely 
at a loss. He would have given anything to recall the 
remarks he had made, for he knew there was more than 
a little truth in them, even if he had laid stress on the 
dark side of the picture ; and also he knew that they had 
sunk deep info Ryan’s brain, and that nothing could 
efface them. 

“By Jove, I congratulate you, my dear chap,” he said, 
a little too effusively. “Of course you mustn’t take any 
notice of what I’ve been saying, for I really know nothing 
about it, being a single man with expensive tastes myself. 
I believe there are jolly little houses down Bertrams way 
you can get for about a month, and, of course, the 
baby part of the programme need not happen all at once. 
She’s a pretty little girl — Miss Maggie — and strong too. 
Why, I don’t think she has been away from the office a 
single day all the time she’s been with us — over a year ! ” 

Ryan was not a bit deceived. It was typical of his 
nature that once the dark side was pointed out, it held his 
attention to the complete exclusion of everything else. 
He felt like a man who has been sailing along quite 
happily, taking no note of whither his boat was taking 
him, and who suddenly wakes to find himself surrounded 
by a grey and angry sea, with not a vestige of land in 
sight. 

“You’re trying to make things seem better,” he said, 
“but ’tis easy to see you don’t really mean it. It was 
wrong of me to ask her — worse than wrong — for, of 
course, she thinks I can keep her.” 

“Rot! ” Lensford retorted. Already he was recovering 
his wonted manner, and he meant to do everything that 
was humanly possible to cheer the other. “ My dear chap, 
why on earth do you look like a convicted criminal? Lots 
of fellows get engaged at £ 2 ^ a month, and even married. 
You must start saving every penny you can, right from 
now, and by way of a wedding present I’ll square up 
those bills you have run up through coming round with 
me.” 

Ryan shook his head. 

“Of course you mustn’t do that,” he said decidedly. 


Concerning Matrimony 185 

“ I have them at home, and I must pay them. The men 
said they were in no hurry. You didn’t know that I came 
here with hardly a penny in the world, so it’s nothing to 
do with you. They are what you call debts of honour, 
and I must pay them.” 

“Don’t be an ass ” Lensford began. 

“I’m not an ass, and you know it. If you were in my 
place, Mr. Lensford, would you allow anybody to pay 
your debts? Of course you wouldnT have got engaged, 
but that is my own affair. You wouldn’t let anybody pay 
your debts, would you?” 

Lensford shrugged his shoulders. 

“What a chap you are for arguing,” he said. “Well, 
if you want to saddle yourself with a debt, do so, and be 
hanged to you. I seem to have landed you in a nice 
mess, Ryan, and I feel pretty rotten about it. At least 
you must promise to come to me if you are really in 
trouble, and to let me come to the rescue if there is any 
unpleasantness.” 

“I’ll do that,” Ryan replied. “You don’t know how 
much I think of you, Mr. Lensford, and if there is any 
one who could advise me when things go wrong, I know 
you could. Maybe I’ll borrow a little from you if I can’t 
pay off every debt before I get married, but of course 
you must let me pay you back. I think it’s in us to pay 
our debts, and my father would be the first to say that 
I must not leave any unpaid.” 

“I always said you were out of place in Johannesburg,” 
Lensford remarked helplessly. 

“That may be, but it can’t be helped. And now there’s 
another wagon come in, so I must see to loading it up.” 

He walked dejectedly into the yard, and Lensford looked 
after him with a comical air of consternation. 

“I’ve always heard it’s unlucky to save a man from 
drowning,” he murmured, “and, upon my word, I’m 
beginning to believe it. What a thrice accursed fool I 
was to go into those Earrowing details before I was sure 
of my ground.” 

He walked to the store telephone, and rang up the 
garage where his car was kept. Having ordered it to be 
sent to him, he asked the exchange for another number, 
and spoke to a house in Parktown. 


i86 


The Debt 


“Will you ask Mrs. Mason to speak?” he said, when 
a servant at the other end answered him. 

He waited for a few moments, with the receiver held 
to his ear, and then went on again — 

“Is that Mrs. Mason? Good-morning. Yes — Lens- 
ford this end. May I come up and see you, dear lady? 
Now — at once. I want sympathy and advice, and if you 
could persuade your menials to kick me it would make 
me feel very much better. . . . Yes, of course. I seem 
to have messed things up in the most hopeless manner, and 
only you can straighten out the tangle. . . . Thanks. I’ve 
told them to send the car here, and will come straight up.” 

He hung the receiver on the hook, and heaved a sigh of 
relief. 

“Perhaps, after all, it isn’t so bad,” he said hopefully. 

And, meantime, Ryan was out in the yard, struggling 
in a very real slough of despond; Hitherto he had thought 
of nothing except the all important fact that Maggie loved 
him, and that he loved her. As to what would happen 
when they were married, it had never even occurred to 
him to look so far ahead. Like all dwellers in the wilds, 
he lived entirely in the present, and hitherto he had been 
quite capable of meeting any tribulations which the future 
had in store for him. But now it was all different. For 
himself, any, trials and privations were nothing — he was 
accustomed to roughing it, and cared not a jot. But with 
Maggie it was different. She had always had a comfort- 
able home — at least, he thought it had been a comfortable 
home — and at the worst she never had to worry as to 
where the next meal was coming from. He tortured him- 
self with reflections of what would happen if she got ill, 
or if he was unable to keep his billet. He pictured her 
lying in a poorly-furnished, comfortless room, while he 
tramped round and round town in search of work, as he 
had seen so many men doing even in his short stay on the 
Rand. 

If only he could pay those debts, and induce her to come 
to the wilds with him, it might be better but his instinct 
told him that she was utterly unsuited to the life, and he 
very much doubted if she would care to leave the town. 
With his sudden awakening had come an almost cruel 
clearness of vision, and perhaps for the first time he saw 


Concerning Matrimony 187 

Maggie as she really was — saw her narrow views and 
trivial thoughts, her weakness of character, her littleness. 
He knew then that she would never do for the unfettered 
life of the veld, and yet he realised at last that the exist- 
ence in town was crushing him — literally crushing him. 

He had been living as was his way, taking no thought 
for the morrow but now he looked ahead, and saw nothing 
but an infinity of years passed in the captivity, of Johannes- 
burg. He had been dazzled by her undoubted charm of 
manner and pretty face, and his very ignorance of the 
sex had made him regard this as something wonderful and 
precious. The practical side of the question had not 
entered his thoughts, but now it threatened to drive out 
the other altogether. He loved her — undoubtedly he loved 
her; but it was nothing short of criminal folly on his part 
to ask her to marry him, when at the best he could only 
keep her in the poorest of circumstances. 

And then he began to ask himself questions. Was he 
justified in being engaged a moment longer? Would it 
not be better to tell her straight out that it was hopeless 
to think of marriage, and ask her to release him? Could 
he face the ordeal of permanent life shut up in a town, 
he who had been accustomed to the open veld? But even 
then he knew that he could not justify himself if he broke 
off the engagement, and also knew that at all costs she 
would prefer to keep him to his word if only to avoid the 
bitter sneers of her mother and her sister. For the first 
time he saw the family as it really was, and knew what 
poor little Maggie would have to go through if he asked 
to be released almost as soon as he was engaged. He 
pictured her suffering through the jeers of her family, and 
not because of her own feelings, for with all his new-born 
clearness of vision he did not realise that even a shallow 
nature like hers was capable of a really beautiful love. 

And then he began to ask himself if he really loved her 
well enough to put everything else on one side — if he 
loved her as a woman ought to be loved. And of all 
questions that is the one which is its own answer. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A NEW FRIEND 

If Maggie noticed any alteration in Ryan’s manner 
towards her during the following week, she gave no sign. 
Indeed, it is doubtful if Ryan allowed any indication to 
escape of the turmoil that raged within him ; and Maggie 
was so wonderfully happy in her love that she was hardly 
capable of differentiating between the more subtle forms 
of expression and manner. To her it was something quite 
inconceivable, quite sacred, that this big, quiet man should 
have stooped to love one so insignificant as herself. To 
her he was everything that a man should be, and though 
she would probably have given no sign if he had not 
spoken, she loved him with that passionate, unreasoning 
love which only comes once in a girl’s life. She had 
known this for some weeks now, but had dissembled so 
well that even Ethel did not guess the real state of 
her feelings. Ethel naturally could not understand a 
thoroughly disinterested love, and firmly believed that 
Maggie would have accepted any of the other men in the 
house if they had happened to propose to her. But despite 
the shallowness of her nature, despite the unavoidable 
influence of her upbringing, Maggie was capable of a 
great and unselfish love, and she had given all of this to 
Ryan. 

As for Ryan himself, whatever his fears and self-torments 
when away from her, there was no room for doubt once 
he reached the house, and felt Maggie’s eager, caressing 
arms round his neck. It would have taken a very brave 
or an utterly mean nature to suggest then that the engage- 
ment was a mistake, and her pride and joy in him was 
so very real that it made his fears seem groundless and 
ridiculous. Also he loved her — loved her as well as a man 
who has spent all his life in the wilds can love a woman ; 
for with such men Nature must always come first, and 

1 88 


A New Friend 


189 

though they may turn from her for a while to do a woman’s 
will, they will return — they will always return. Such men 
cannot understand the petty inconsistencies of a woman, 
and no woman can be sure of the man who can always 
turn to Nature for consolation, and seeking, find. Ryan 
loved Maggie with a quite disinterested and pure love, and 
would willingly have gone through anything for her sake ; 
but he had lived with Nature for thirty-five years, and 
Nature would always come first. 

It was on the Thursday that Frances received an un- 
expected letter. She happened to be out when it arrived, 
and Ethel opened it. Ethel maintained that as the eldest 
sister she had a sort of vested interest in any communica- 
tions which came to the house, and would always open 
those addressed to her sister if the latter happened to be 
out at the time. As a rule she did not take too many 
liberties with Frances, but this particular letter looked so 
very promising that it was altogether too much for her 
insatiable curiosity. The envelope was of thick, hand- 
made paper, and there was a crest on the flap. Ethel 
was rather partial to an envelope with a large “ E ” in one 
corner herself, but this was something quite different. 
Also the writing was unknown to her. 

Why should Frances receive letters in a strange writing? 
To a woman with a morbid imagination like Ethel’s, the 
possibilities were endless; so after studying it from every 
aspect outwardly, she decided that perhaps it was really 
meant for her, and opened it. 

There was a crest on the notepaper also, and it was 
dated from Enfield Lodge, Parktown. Ethel was con- 
vinced that Frances had no right to know anybody living 
in the most aristocratic suburb of Johannesburg, so read 
on. 


“My dear Frances” (it ran), 

“You will not remember me, but when you 
were a baby I often sat you on my knee and gave you 
more sweets than were good for you. Your poor 
mother was a great friend of mine, as was also your 
father in the old days, though I did not see much ot 
him after he married again. Quite by chance I have 
heard that you are back in Johannesburg, after finish- 


The Debt 


190 

ing your education in England, and I feel I would 
dearly like to see you again, and chat with you about 
old times. Perhaps after all you will remember me? 
Almost any time would suit me, but since an open 
invitation is no invitation at all, suppose we say next 
Tuesday? Come as early as you like, my dear, for 
we shall have a lot to say to each other. 

“By the way, isn’t your stepsister engaged to a 
Mr. Ryan? He was introduced to me by Mr. Lens- 
ford, who is one of my oldest friends here, and I quite 
took a fancy to him. Perhaps it would be as well if 
he could bring her up after office hours, so that you 
could all go home together. 1 hardly like the idea of 
your going by yourself in the evening, and I am sure 
I shall not let you leave me till it is almost dark; 
but if they were with you there would be no need for 
any anxiety. 

“ I am an old woman now, my dear, and it is one 
of my privileges to be unorthodox; so I hope you 
will accept this very unorthodox invitation. 

“ Most sincerely, 

“Katherine Mason.” 

Ethel read the letter three times, and then put it back 
in the envelope. 

“She doesn’t want to see me,” she remarked character- 
istically. “Frances is conceited enough as it is, but if 
she starts going about with the Parktown crowd she will 
be simply unbearable. And she might have asked me — 
I’m older than Maggie.” 

She put the letter on the mantelpiece in the bedroom, 
and decided that Katherine Mason was an interfering old 
woman, and that Frances would be bored to death. 

When Frances came home, a little before lunch, Ethel 
hurried out to impart the glad news. 

“There’s a letter for you, Frances,” she said. 

“Is there?” 

Frances was occupied in stroking a diminutive kitten, 
which had appeared from nowhere in particular, as kittens 
will. 

“Yes. Aren’t you going to read it? ” 

“ Presently.” 


A New Friend 191 

^ She played with the kitten for a few minutes, while 
Ethel watched her impatiently. Then she walked into the 
bedroom, and took the letter from the mantelpiece. 
Naturally she noticed that it had been opened. 

“Did you open this, Ethel? ” she asked. 

“Yes,” Ethel replied, trying to speak unconcernedly. 

“What do you mean by opening my letters? ” 

“ Why shouldn’t I? Are you ashamed of other people 
seeing the letters you receive? ” 

“What has that to do with it? ” 

“Everything. If you weren’t ashamed, you wouldn’t 
mind my opening your letters. It only shows what a 
guilty conscience you have, if you’re afraid of other people 
seeing them.” 

“What an utterly low-minded girl you are,” Frances 
said calmly. “Can’t you see that it is the principle I 
object to? No, I suppose you wouldn’t be able to grasp 
that. But to help you to understand, I promise you 
that if you open any more of my letters. I’ll box your 
ears.” 

Ethel gasped. The indignity of it ! 

“ If you dare ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ Oh, I dare. Moreover, you know perfectly well that 
I could do it quite easily. It is useless to try to convince 
you of the error of your ways on ordinary, decent grounds, 
so I’m going to resort to force.” 

“But I shall tell mother.” 

“ Of course you will ! But by that time your ears will 
have been boxed. One must always pay for one’s plea- 
sures. And you haven’t opened any of my letters for 
weeks. I suppose this one was too tempting to resist.” 

She drew the missive from the envelope, and read it 
with growing interest. Here was somebody at last to 
whom she could talk about her missing father, and the 
dear, dead mother who was little more than a memory. 

“Do you remember her? ” Ethel asked. 

“ Of course I do — perfectly. She is the dearest old lady 
you ever saw, with white hair, and wonderfully bright 
eyes. I believe it is the same house, though I haven't 
been there since I was about seven. It was built before 
the war, and must have cost thousands of pounds. One 
is apt to exaggerate things as a child, but I seem to 


192 The Debt 

remember huge rooms, and thick carpets like you read 
about.” 

Ethel sighed enviously. 

‘‘I suppose you’ll go, then?” she asked. 

“Of course I shall.” 

“If mother will let you. You know how particular she 
is about who we know.” 

Frances smiled. The arbitrary rule of her stepmother 
did not touch her so unreasonably as it did her stepsisters. 
To do Mrs. Harris justice, she had great faith in Frances’s 
judgment and discernment, and trusted her far more than 
she did either of her own daughters. Moreover, Frances 
was exceedingly difficult to manage if she felt that she had 
a real grievance, and had an embarrassing habit of insist- 
ing on discussing the justice or otherwise of the treatment 
meted out to her. It would never have occurred to either 
Ethel or Maggie to dare to question any ruling of their 
mother, though they were both grown-up. 

“We’ll go and ask her straight away,” Frances re- 
marked cheerfully. “You’d better come too, Ethel, in 
case I get into a row. You know how sorry you’d be to 
miss it.” 

But there was no row. On the contrary, Mrs. Harris 
was frankly delighted at the invitation. 

“She was quite somebody in the old days,” she said, 
wiping her hands on a dishcloth, for she had been making 
preserve. “ Mind you, she kept herself too much to herself 
to be really one of the leading people, but it was considered 
a feather in your cap if you were asked to her house. She 
was much too high and mighty to ask me, but then, of 
course, I had my own friends who wouldn’t have asked 
her. You must see that you look your best on Tuesday, 
Frances, for I believe she has a lot of influence, and she 
may be able to get you a billet with one of the big mining 
houses. It’s a thousand pities that she has asked Maggie 
instead of Ethel, though. She is so quiet and nervous 
when she’s out, that people think she is quite silly. Now 
Ethel is a really good talker.” 

Which was no more than the truth — Ethel was un- 
doubtedly a talker. But there is all the difference in the 
world between a talker and a conversationalist. 

“Do you think Frances ought to go — if the woman was 


A New Friend 


193 

too high and mighty to know you in the old days?” 
Ethel put in hopefully. 

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Harris answered 
easily. 

She was quite as thick-skinned in her virtues as in her 
vices, thereby showing herself to be no ordinary person. 
For whereas the vices of most of us are proof against the 
strongest arguments, our virtues are so very delicate that 
we hide them from the light of day lest they should not 
stand the glare. The only virtues we boast of are the ones 
we do not possess. 

“But she used to snub you,” Ethel persisted. 

“No, she didn’t. I’d like to see the woman who would 
snub me,” Mrs. Harris remarked, with a very reasonable 
faith in her own aggressiveness. “ It was just that she 
had her clique” — Mrs. Harris pronounced it “click” — 
“and I had mine. She’s quite a lady.” 

“Well, I don’t care — I wouldn’t go,” Ethel maintained. 

“You haven’t been asked, my lady,” Mrs. Harris 
rejoined, somewhat unkindly. “ Nobody ever breathed a 
word against Mrs. Mason’s character, when all’s said and 
done; and there are mighty few women in Johannesburg 
to-day of whom I could say as much as that. Of course 
you’ll go, Frances, and we must get that cream silk I 
bought at Sutton’s sale made up into a pretty dress for 
you.” 

And so it was arranged. Maggie was delighted at the 
prospect of calling for Frances later on in the afternoon, 
for, in the first place, it meant that she would have a 
pleasant little outing with Ryan ; and in the second place 
it might mean that she would find a new and valuable 
friend. She had all too few really nice friends, and she 
always felt a longing to cut herself entirely free from the 
circle of acquaintances fate had given her, and mix with 
really nice people — people like those she read about in 
books. She did not go deep enough into the matter to 
know exactly why and how her present friends offended, 
but there was always the knowledge that something was 
wrong — something jarred. 

And now that she was engaged to Ryan, this feeling was 
intensified. Of all her friends, there was not one in whom 
she could have confided even a little, and yet the very 
o 


The Debt 


194 

weakness of her character made her long to confide in 
somebody. There was Frances, and Frances would 
always listen sympathetically when she plunged into long 
accounts of her wonderful walks with Ryan, and the things 
he said to her. But with Frances she always had an 
uneasy conviction of her own inferiority of character, and 
that was not conducive to perfect understanding. More- 
over, Frances was younger than she was. We can only 
confide perfectly in those who look up to us, or who are 
much older than ourselves. And as regarded her girl 
friends, she knew that it would be worse than useless to 
tell them anything of her real thoughts and feelings. They 
would have laughed in the wrong place, and interrupted 
her to ask how. much Ryan was earning ; and if she had 
been so foolish as to breathe a word as to those precious 
minutes she had alone with him, they would have winked 
knowingly, and told her that she had better keep her eye 
on him. 

But Mrs. Mason sounded a most charming and sympa- 
thetic old lady, according to her letter and Frances’s 
recollections, and it seemed possible to Maggie that here 
at last was the kind of friend for whom her soul hungered. 
Maggie was, unfortunately for herself, cursed with a rest- 
less imagination, and for the next few days she found 
herself constantly indulging in delicious day dreams, in 
which there was always a nebulous old lady with white 
hair, at whose feet she sat to whisper of her inmost 
feelings. 

On the Tuesday Frances set out arrayed with unusual 
and not altogether becoming splendour. Mrs. Harris had 
fulfilled her threat of the cream silk dress, and though 
the original idea was pretty enough, she had elaborated 
her notions of trimming till the gown was too decorative 
for a young girl. And, moreover, elaborateness did not 
suit Frances. Pretty she undoubtedly was, but it was by 
no means the type of prettiness which might be described 
as fluffy. On the contrary, she looked her best in severe 
tailor-mades. 

But Frances was not given to worrying as to her per- 
sonal appearance. She was naturally neat, but beyond 
that she suffered the decrees of her stepmother with in- 
difference. It had pleased that good lady to fashion the 


A New Friend 


195 

cream silk after her own ideas, and though Frances felt 
that cerise pipings were perhaps permissible, she did not 
like the additional splashes of the same colour, which 
ornamented the gown. The effect was too daring for a 
young girl. 

However, she strolled along quite happily down the far 
portion of Twist Street, for it was a perfect afternoon for 
a walk, and so entered the outskirts of Parktown. Here 
the abundance of trees gave evidence of the age of the 
suburb, and there was not the same crowding of houses, 
and abundance of unsightly wire fences, as was noticeable 
in the more modern purlieus of the town. Here the 
houses, for the most part, stood in the middle of con- 
siderable grounds, and were not perched precariously on 
the very edge of the so-called pavement; and there was a 
suggestion of comfort and privacy which was sufficiently 
unusual in Johannesburg. 

Frances had not the least difficulty in finding Enfield 
Lodge, for her stepmother had been able to give her 
explicit instructions as to its whereabouts. There was 
nothing very pretentious about the place from the outside, 
it being of the ordinary bungalow type, with a roomy 
verandah round three sides. But one noticed that it was 
bigger than many of the houses thereabouts, and that a 
profusion of creepers draped it with a charming dress of 
soothing green. Also it stood right back from the road, 
and there must have been something like an acre of par- 
ticularly well-kept grounds round it. The tall macrocarpa 
hedge which encircled the whole place was trimmed to a 
scrupulous evenness, and the vivid green of the lawns told 
of either a private water supply from a well, or an utter 
disregard of expense in using that supplied by the 
municipal mains. 

Frances walked up the gravelled drive with a pleasant 
feeling of excitement, for it was all so unlike any of the 
other houses she had visited since her return to the Rand. 
She noted the border of bright blue lobelia to the drive, 
and the scarlet and pink geraniums behind; and it 
reminded her gratefully of the gardens she had seen in 
England, when she had stayed for the holidays at the 
houses of some of her girl friends. She felt an odd little 
thrill of longing for those school days, though she had 
o 2 


ig6 The Debt 

been born in South Africa, and should have regarded it as 
her home. 

The broad verandah was relieved of any suggestion of 
bareness by several tree-ferns in tubs, and bushes of white 
and pink hydrangea; whilst on a flower-stand against the 
wall were more geraniums and other flowering plants. 
Frances nodded appreciatively as she came up the steps, 
and then rang the bell which was to open to her the gates 
of silence that had closed behind her vanished father. 

The door was opened by a white maid in the orthodox 
uniform of her calling, and Frances inquired if Mrs. Mason 
was in. 

“Yes, miss,” the maid answered. “Are you Miss 
Harris? Madame is expecting you.” 

She led the way through a large hall, and knocked at 
a door on the far side. 

“Miss Harris, madame,” she said, and stood aside. 

Frances entered to see Mrs. Mason standing by the 
open window to receive her, and in a moment the years 
were bridged, and a flood of recollections swept over her 
— recollections in which the gracious lady by the window 
was always a central figure. The childish pet name she 
had forgotten with the passage of time leaped to her lips, 
and she almost ran across the room. 

“ Oh — ganny ! ” she cried, “ dear ganny ! ” 

Mrs. Mason caught her in her arms, and kissed her 
impulsively. 

“Dear little girl — so you haven’t forgotten? ” she said. 
“I watched you coming up the drive, Frances, and it 
seemed such a very different little girl that I feared she 
would come in quite stiffly and formally, and say, ‘ How 
do you do, Mrs. Mason; isn’t it a lovely afternoon? ’ It 
is — how long? — ten years or more since you last saw me, 
and still you remember me. It seems such a little time 
— such a very little time ! — since I told you to call me 
granny, and you couldn’t manage the ‘ r. ’ And now let 
me look at you.” 

She kissed her again, and then held her at arms’ 
length, and looked long and earnestly at her. 

“You are exceedingly pretty, my dear,” she said; “and 
wonderfully like your poor mother. The hair, and the 
mouth and chin. You have your father’s eyes, though. 


A New Friend 


197 

And now come and sit in this big chair, and tell me all 
that has happened since your — since I last saw you.” 

She sat in a large, comfortable arm-chair, upholstered 
in pale green to harmonise with the general colour scheme 
of the room. Most of the furniture was artistic and 
elegant rather than comfortable, but there were just two 
of these big chairs, and she told Frances to bring the 
other one close to her. 

“And now — what shall I say?” she demanded, when 
they were comfortably seated. “ Shall I ask you about 
England? Or wifi you just talk to me as the thoughts 
come into your pretty head? I think that is the best 
course. Do you remember how you used to sit in that 
very chair — it has been re-covered, but it is the same chair 
— with your fat little legs straight out in front of you on 
the seat? And you were so fond of the very special toffee 
my cook used to make that often I really did not know 
whether it was me or the toffee you came here to see.” 

Frances was holding one of the thin, almost trans- 
parent hands of her hostess in both her own, and for the 
first time since her return to Johannesburg she felt a sense 
of home coming. 

“Do you know, ganny,” she said, “it had all slipped 
away till just this minute? It was only as I came up the 
drive that I began to remember that far-away past, but 
now it is as clear as clear ! I can even remember mother 
a little, though I was only four when she died. But it 
was after that that you were always so kind to me. And 
I didn’t even know you were still in Johannesburg.” 

“Sometimes I hardly know why I stay,” the old lady 
answered, “ unless it is that I love this house. I go to 
Capetown for some months every year, and in a way I 
infinitely prefer it to here; but my friends are in Johannes- 
burg, and when one reaches my great age — I’m seventy, 
my dear — it is the friends rather than the scenes which 
count. I am too old to develop new friends. And now 
let us talk. We’ll have tea presently.” 

So they talked, and Frances found herself relating all 
her little troubles and trials as a matter of course to the 
white-haired old lady with the bright eyes. Motherless as 
she was, she had developed a habit of reserve through 
the utter incompatibility of temperament between herself 


The Debt 


198 

and her stepmother’s household; but in the new, friendly 
atmosphere this reserve melted altogether, and she spoke 
as she might have spoken to her own mother. Mrs. 
Mason listened sympathetically, interjecting remarks now 
and again, but contenting herself with the r 61 e of audience, 
once she had induced the young girl really to confide in 
her; and only when the maid came in with the tea things 
did Frances realise she had been talking for very nearly 
an hour. 

So busy had she been with her own reminiscences, that 
the primary object of her visit had momentarily escaped 
her, and it was only when they were discussing the dainty 
little cakes and scones that she remembered. 

“Why did my father leave Johannesburg?” she 
demanded suddenly. 

The directness of the question found Mrs. Mason quite 
unprepared, and her look of consternation was sufficient 
to confirm the worst fears of the younger girl. 

“ There ! ” she said. “ I always knew there must have 
been something horrid, but I don’t believe a word of it ! ” 

“My dear — haven’t you heard anything?” Mrs. Mason 
asked. “ I thought perhaps your stepmother had told 
you.” 

“I never talk about my father to her,” Frances replied, 
as though she were stating the obvious. “ But some time 
ago Ethel — that is the eldest girl — said something about 
dad being a criminal, and another man helping him to 
escape from here.” 

Mrs. Mason spread out her hands helplessly. 

“ People always talk ” she began. 

“Oh, ganny ! Please don’t try to put me off. Can’t 
you see that even if he did anything^ I’d much rather 
know all about it than just keep on in ignorance. And 
whatever it was I am quite sure there was some reason.” 

“ Of course there was ! My dear, I will tell you all I 
know, which is by no means all there is to know. I 
asked a friend of mine — Mr. Lensford — to see what he 
could discover for me, for I always liked your father. 
Mr. Lensford — have you met him, by the way? — is one 
of those apparently careless, heedless men who have a 
wonderful knack of doing what they mean to do, and I 
am sure nobody could have found out more than he did. 


A New Friend 


199 


It appears that your father fell into bad company, and 
there was something about a forged endorsement to a bill. 
He and another man needed the money to tide them over 
a bad mouth. I believe they had been gambling on the 
Stock Exchange. Mind you, this is all purely private 
information, for the matter never became public in any 
way. Well, they had to pay this bill by a certain day, 
and as the time drew near they knew they could not do 
it. So the other man told your father they would be 
imprisoned, so far as we can learn, and induced him to 
run away. You follow? With your father out of the 
way, the other man was able to put all the blame on his 
shoulders, and pretend entire ignorance of any mal- 
practice on his own part. The matter was hushed up, 
as such matters always are hushed up in Johannesburg, 
and — your father was never heard of again. He just 
vanished, dear. The other man stayed on, and is, I 
believe, doing very well.” 

Frances was sitting very still. 

“I see,” she said softly. “Dad committed forgery.” 

“We don’t know. It is all so very nebulous and un- 
satisfactory. Undoubtedly there was a bill, and undoubt- 
edly there was a forged endorsement. But you must 
remember that it was the other man who, by inference, 
laid all the blame on your father’s shoulders. Personally 
I think there is yet something to learn about the matter, 
and that at the worst your father was more sinned against 
than sinning. But the other man played his cards well. 
We can’t really institute any inquiries without running a 
big risk — without definitely admitting that forgery was 
committed. As it is, only a very few have any idea of 
why your father went away, and the matter has been 
hushed up as I told you. The other man knew that we 
could not run the risk of publicity, especially as your 
father had at least escaped, and so our hands are tied.” 

“And who was the other man?” Frances demanded. 

“A Mr. Feinbaum. He works for the same firm as 
Mr. Lensford, and is supposed to be very smart. I give 
him credit for that — and also for being entirely unprin- 
cipled. I have heard many stories about him. My own 
belief is that he forged that endorsement, and that perhaps 
your father either helped him, or only knew about it when 


200 • 


The Debt 


it was too late. You see, his own signature was on the 
face of the bill. But what can we do? We have abso- 
lutely no proofs. If we had insisted on a full inquiry, 
it might have meant that your father would have been 
hunted, and given over to a term of imprisonment. We 
simply dared not run the risk. And I’m perfectly sure 
that the other man knew this, and frightened your father 
away knowing that he himself would then be safe. He 
is a man who has no moral scruples himself, but he is 
clever enough to be able to trade on the moral scruples 
of others.” 

Frances said nothing. She had a vivid recollection of 
Feinbaum’s devilish cleverness in disarming the enemy 
before he took any liberties, and she had not the slightest 
doubt in her own mind that he had trapped her father in 
some way, and saved himself on the wreckage of his 
reputation. In a way she was relieved at what Mrs. 
Mason had told her, for now she could afford to laugh at 
Ethel’s veiled insinuations, confident as she was that her 
father was not to blame. She could not hope to clear 
his name, and he might even be dead now for all she 
knew; but if the trouble which had driven him from 
Johannesburg had been connected with Feinbaum, then 
indeed was it easy to absolve him from all blame. 

“Have I distressed you very much, my dear?” the old 
lady asked gently, after a long silence. 

Frances smiled brightly. 

“No,” she said decidedly. “On the contrary, ganny, 
I feel as if a load has been lifted from my mind. Does 
that sound peculiar? You see, before you told me, it 
might have been anything; but now I feel that it is just 
because of Mr. Feinbaum’s cunning that he was driven 
away, and that really he didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Which is just what I think, my dear. Possibly Mr. 
Lensford may drop in later, and if you care to have a 
talk with him, he will put the matter much better than 
I did. Was that a ring? That will be your stepsister, 
and the bashful Mr. Ryan. And now let me admit some- 
thing. It was entirely because of them that I heard of 
you. I wanted to know them and help them if I could, 
because Mr. Ryan is a friend of Mr. Lensford’s. We 
were discussing all sorts of plans as to how and why I 


A New Friend 


201 


could get Maggie here, and Mr. Lensford suggested that 
as I had known your father, I might ask you. Before 
that I had no idea you were back in Johannesburg, and 
of course Mr. Lensford didn’t know what friends you 
and I had been in the old days. So from my laudable 
desire to help, much unexpected good resulted. I only 
hope I shall be able to help the happy couple.” 

She broke off as the maid opened the door. 


CHAPTER XIX 


AN INTERLUDE 

In an out-of-the-way corner of those vast, heart-break- 
ing tracts of land which merge into the waterless Karroo, 
old man Ryan had what he was pleased to term his farm. 
Many years before he had realised that it was the sheerest 
folly to be just a transport rider and not a farmer, for in 
the dry winter months there was no feed for the oxen, and 
though they could be run on many a stretch of vacant 
land or even on the commonages attached to the minor 
towns, they fell away so seriously in condition that it took 
months to get them right again. The old man was very 
shrewd in some ways, and he quite understood that if you 
wanted to get the best results from your beasts, and if 
they were to be fit to travel as soon as the first rains fell, 
and to keep on till the winter’s drought was firmly estab- 
lished, they must be carefully tended during the dry 
season. 

Trekking all over the country as he did, he had had 
ample opportunity of deciding as to which district would 
best suit his requirements, and had made his choice some 
ten years previously. There were several reasons why he 
had settled in such a remote and unlovely locality, the two 
principal being a good and constant spring of excellent 
water, and a rental which was by no means excessive. 

He had noted that spring with an appraising and 
approving eye as he passed one afternoon in late summer, 
and had immediately called a halt. Apparently the water 
belonged to nobody in particular, but just bubbled con- 
stantly from the depths of the earth, and converted all the 
surrounding land into a marsh. There were no fences — 
nothing ! Just the drab-coloured, endless expanse of veld, 
with that precious water-supply going altogether to waste. 
It hurt old Ryan’s Ideas of economy. 

202 


An Interlude 


203 


When the oxen were outspanned, he set off towards a 
bit of a kopje some two miles away, for he guessed that 
if there was a farmhouse anywhere about, it would be in 
the shelter of that kopje. And so he discovered his future 
landlord, surrounded by a miscellaneous collection of chil- 
dren, and dogs, and fowls, and other indications of pros- 
perity. He was a Dutchman of the old school, and his 
motto was to take no heed for the morrow. He grew a 
few mealies — at least, he gave the seed to the natives, 
and they grew them for him on a share basis — and a little 
wheat, and some potatoes, and had no desire to increase 
his crops. Why should he? There was more than enough 
for the family, and there was no one to buy his surplus. 
The nearest railway was a hundred miles away, and it was 
far too much trouble to get the stuff there. He knew, for 
he was a transport rider too — when there was any pressing 
need for money. He had good oxen, and a couple of 
wagons ; and when there was need to work he could 
always manage two full spans. 

He had greeted old Ryan hospitably, for despite differ- 
ences of creed and language they were both of the veld. 
Moreover, each could talk the language of the other if 
necessary. Having a definite object in view, old Ryan 
had spoken in the Taal, giving it the slurring drawl which 
is distinctive of the back-veld, and in consequence he had 
been shown every kindness. Over the essential cup of 
coffee he had discussed the weather with his host — whose 
name was Van der Velde — and then the crops, and the 
native question, and transport rates, and similar engross- 
ing subjects, and in every case they had been in complete 
accord. 

It was only when he rose to go that he mentioned 
casually — very gradually — that he was thinking of renting 
a bit of land somewhere in the locality to run his oxen 
on in the winter, and raise a few crops; and perhaps he’d 
put up a bit of a shanty, and do a little farming when 
things were slack. Van der Velde was all attention at 
once, for apart from the fact that he had all the love of 
his race for bargaining, he had taken a fancy to his visitor. 
He thought it would be nice to have a man like that close 
to him, for it was very lonely there by the great Karroo, 
and often he wished for a grown man to talk to. 


The Debt 


204 

He stopped Ryan as the latter was about to shake hands 
with the entire household by way of farewell, as is the 
way of the back-veld. 

“There’s little water near here,” he observed. 

“No, ’tis pretty middlin’ dry,” old Ryan agreed, without 
displaying too much interest in the conversation. 

“There is a dam on Heindrik Smit’s place, which is 
fifteen miles away ; and a good spring at Sterkfontein, 
which is also twenty miles away. But that water you 
could not use.” 

“Reckon I’d best go somewhere else,” the older man 
replied philosophically. “ ’Tisn’t as if I want to take a 
place hereabouts ; it jest sort of occurred to me like. One 
place’s much the same as another to me, and seein’ as 
I’ve waited a matter of fifty years, there ain’t no par- 
ticlar hurry.” 

Van der Velde shot a quick glance at him. 

“There is yet another spring on my farm,” he said. 
“ It is near the road as you came along, and you saw it 
— yes? I do not use it because here there is a better one.” 

“Jest let it run to waste like?” 

Old Ryan was so evidently determined not to make the 
next advance that in sheer despair of moving him Van der 
Velde had to show his hand. 

“There is water there all the year,” he went on. 
“Perhaps so close as that is the place you want.” 

Old Ryan affected great surprise. 

“Well, only to think o’ that! ” he exclaimed. 

“It is very good water,” Van der Velde added. 

“Maybe. But from what I saw as I came past — jest 
lookin’ at it casual — there didn’t ’pear to me to be a 
powerful lot of it. Middlin’ sort o’ puddle, an’ a bit of a 
marsh. ’Twould be the hem of a job to dig it out.” 

“Come and sit with me on the stoep again,” the 
Dutchman said persuasively, “and we will talk about it.” 

And they had talked till far in the night, for both of 
them loved the discussion more than the ultimate result. 
Old Ryan had taken tea with them, and after the meal 
was over the discussion raged as cheerfully as ever, what 
time the many children were stowed away to sleep. 

In the end an arrangement was arrived at. Ryan was 
to have as much land as he wanted round the spring. 


An Interlude 


205 


whereon he could grow anything he liked. He could also build 
himself a house, and run his cattle where he liked. Most of 
the farm was unfenced, and there was no mention of actual 
areas in the contract. Neither was any formal deed drawn 
up, but the two men shook hands solemnly to ratify the 
agreement, and Ryan held himself pledged to pay the 
sum of ten shillings per month from the beginning of the 
next summer. The first winter months he was allowed 
free, in order that he might dig out the spring and effect 
any other improvements which might be necessary before 
he could actually start his labour of farming. 

It was an agreement eminently satisfactory to both men. 
The Dutchman received six pounds a year for no trouble 
whatever, and in addition would have an agreeable neigh- 
bour. Ryan had an undefined area of land which he was 
pretty sure he could turn to good account, and which he 
could always come to as a home. He had been wander- 
ing so many years that the idea of a fixed base was very 
grateful to him. It had been quite an afterthought to get 
those first few months free, and he had only insisted on 
it because otherwise the discussion would have finished 
much sooner than either of them cared about. 

And with Harry to help him — for all of this had hap- 
pened some ten years before the former went to Johannes- 
burg — he had really done wonders with the place. The 
spring had been dug out till it was quite a respectable 
pool, and the marsh land had been drained, and yielded 
wonderful crops of potatoes with great regularity. The 
old man had bought a second-hand pump after the first 
year, and with the aid of this he was able to irrigate quite 
a fair area of land, and to grow excellent root crops, and 
mealies, and even a little lucerne. His methods were 
primitive, and he never attempted to do things on a large 
scale ; but each year saw the place a little more cultivated, 
a little more homely; and his oxen were kept in such 
grand condition that he could go anywhere with them, 
and draw larger loads than Van der Velde would have 
thought of tackling. 

As to the house, it was at least comfortable. The old 
man and Ryan built it almost entirely themselves, aided 
by their own two boys, and they were very proud of it. 
The foundations and lower part of the walls were of stone. 


2o6 


The Debt 


dragged from a little kopje near by, and laboriously 
fashioned on the spot. But this work was so tedious that 
when the walls were about sill high it was abandoned in 
favour of the usual mud brick building, and the combined 
effect was distinctly unusual. The roof was of corrugated 
iron, of which useful material old Ryan managed to buy 
about twice as much as he needed second-hand. The 
surplus went towards making and roofing outhouses, till 
in course of time there was quite a little homestead by 
the spring. 

Not that they made a very substantial profit, or were 
able to put much money away. The farm became a source 
of wonderful pleasure to the old man, and so soon as he 
had saved a few pounds he would buy a cow, or some 
young oxen, or perhaps a plough, so that there was never 
a big cash balance. And while he was away riding trans- 
port the place was left in charge of an old Cape-boy who 
had been on the road with them for more years than they 
could remember, and who merely saw to it that the two 
natives employed on the place did what little work was 
necessary. 

So the years had passed till when Harry went to 
Johannesburg there was a pleasant little farm for the old 
man to fall back on. It had never occurred to either him 
or Van der Velde to question the validity of the agreement 
under which he held the ground, and the rent-paying was 
always an occasion of intense solemnity. Van der Velde 
invariably wrote out a lengthy receipt, what time the 
family stood round in attitudes of intense admiration at 
his ability with the pen; and thereafter coffee would be 
taken on the stoep, and the strain of the situation would 
be allowed to relax. 

And with Harry away old Ryan found himself more and 
more inclined to trek back to that peaceful little farm 
instead of devoting all the summer months to riding trans- 
port, as he had hitherto done. His needs were so little, 
and he was getting very old. Moreover, a very real 
friendship had sprung up between him and Van der 
Velde, and it was pleasant to sit on the stoep in the 
evening and discuss the country as they had known it 
for so many years. They took it in turns to visit, and 
every night found them sitting together — two old men who 


An Interlude 


207 

had travelled from end to end of their wonderful country 
again and again, and who were never tired of com- 
paring their experiences and talking of the life of the road. 

Old Ryan had returned to the farm and settled down 
for the winter, when that winter was still some way ahead ; 
for he had found trekking without his son unspeakably 
dull. And the man he had hired at Bloemfontein had been 
worse than useless. Van der Velde had also been riding 
transport this season, and the two of them happening to 
return much about the same time, found so much to say 
to each other that work was practically abandoned for a 
fortnight. They did not say so very much either, but just 
sat together on the stoep of either the one house or the 
other, smoking their pipes, and understanding each other 
very thoroughly. For old Ryan, garrulous as he was in 
the ordinary course of events, could also appreciate the 
conversational value of silence; and Van der Velde was 
not a talkative man. 

They were sitting outside Ryan’s house one morning 
in the middle of April, and Van der Velde remarked 
casually that he had sent a boy in for letters. A post- 
cart service touched a point some eighteen miles from the 
farm, and he was in the habit of sending a boy in perhaps 
once a month. For him or his family there were rarely 
any letters, but the weekly paper from the Cape was sent 
to him regularly. 

“Ye’ve sent in, have ye?” old Ryan replied. “Now 
I’m glad to hear ye say so. ’Tis a matter of two months 
since I heard from young Harry, an’ maybe there will 
be a letter for me. He’s doin’ pretty middlin’ well up 
there. I’m tellin’ ye.” 

“For those who like to run, the town; for us who like 
to sit — this ! ” the other said philosophically. “ My own 
boys are wanting to go to the towns, but they are too 
young to understand. Now I did not think your Harry 
would stay there, for he is no longer a boy.” 

“Well, to tell ye the truth, neither did I. ’Tis hoping 
I am that there will be a letter tellin’ me he don’t think 
such a powerful lot of it after all. Mind ye, he won’t 
tell me he wants to come back, him bein’ so proud an’ 
all; but if I can read what he don’t exactly write, and 
know as he’s more’n a bit fed up, why, then I’ll write 


2 o 8 The Debt 

an’ ask him to come back, an’ I reckon he’ll come pretty 
middlin’ quick.” 

“Yes — it is a very nice place you have now.” 

“Ay, ’t aren’t too bad. D’ye see what a fine crop o’ 
mangles I got? What wid them, an’ the hay I cut, them 
oxen won’t be knowin’ themselves this winter, they’ll be 
that full of high livin’. Oh, the place is fine enough, an’ 
it don’t look so bad neither.” 

Van der Velde gazed reflectively at the scene which was 
so familiar to him and nodded. It was all so very much 
neater than his own place, and the trees round the house 
were coming on splendidly. 

“I wish,” he remarked thoughtfully, “that I also had 
planted trees when I first came here. They would now 
be much larger than yours.” 

“Why don’t ye start in and plant them now? Ye could 
write to the Department of Forestry, or whativer ’tis, an’ 
they send ye seeds, an’ tell ye all about it.” 

Van der Velde shook his head. 

“Why should I trouble?” he said simply. “I am an 
old man now — nearly as old as you are — and I should be 
dead before they were grown, perhaps.” 

It was the old, selfish doctrine which has made the 
back-veld farms the ugliest and dreariest in the world. 
Live only for the day, and take no heed for succeeding 
generations. 

“Well, I was middlin’ old when I put them trees in,” 
old Ryan answered, “but I didn’t think of that. ’Tis 
pretty to see ’em starting such tiny, weak bits of things, 
an’ know that in a few years they’ll be right away up 
above ye. Always providin’ that the cattle don’t tread 
’em down, or the ants don’t get at ’em, or the locusts; 
or the frost don’t come along an’ nip ’em off,” he added. 
He had learned by bitter experience that one can never 
be sure of results in South Africa. 

“Perhaps 1 will plant some — next year,” Van der Velde 
remarked, without much conviction. “They look nice, as 
you say. But then you take so much trouble, and there 
are no children to get in your way. Already this place 
looks nicer than mine, and you have only been here a few 
years. That is true, though I don’t know why it should 
be.” 


An Interlude 


209 

Old Ryan knew perfectly well that it was because both 
he and Harry had put in a lot of work on the place, but 
he was too polite to say so. Moreover, Van der Velde 
was quite incapable of understanding why any sane man 
should work unless he really had to. 

“It is true,” he went on, “and though I often think 
you are mad to feed your beasts as you do, perhaps there 
is something to be said for it. Twice I was stuck in a 
bad place on my last trek, and it took me a day to dig 
the wagon out. I think your team would have pulled it 
out before it was sunk too far.” 

“ ’Tis friendly of ye to say so,” old Ryan answered, 
for his oxen were a very tender point with him. “ Maybe 
next summer you an’ me will get on the road together, 
eh? ” 

“It is a good idea. Then we can talk as we do here, 
and when my oxen cannot pull the wagon, you shall show 
me what yours can do. It will help me too.” 

“ ’Tis a great scheme, Van der Velde, an’ we must see 
what we can manage. But be all that’s wonderful, jest 
look at that red leader of mine ! Sneaks back casual like 
when the boy’s not lookin’, and into the lucerne afore ye 
know what’s happening. Hi ! Robinson ! Ye dratted, 
good-fer-nothin’, slab-sided, thievin’ ole slump, ye ! ” 

He ran nimbly down towards where Robinson was 
making the most of his opportunities in the lucerne, 
having achieved his purpose of getting there by much 
strategy. The ox kept an eye on him as he came, so as 
to time the retreat with a due regard to discretion and 
enterprise. In the meantime he gathered in as much of 
the lucerne as he could possibly manage in the brief time 
at his disposal. 

Left to himself. Van der Velde filled his pipe, and then 
produced a slab of hard wood from his pocket. Some 
time ago he had found that there was a ready market for 
various oddments carved by the natives of the country, 
and it had struck him that he could do this as well, or 
even better, than the natives themselves. It was the sort 
of occupation that appealed to him, for it was so very 
restful. He would spend hours, or even days, fashioning 
a rude representation of an ox, or a giraffe, or some buck, 
from yellow-wood or stink-wood, and would then gladly 
p 


210 


The Debt 


sell it as a native curio for a shilling or so. It really did 
not occur to him that there was any misrepresentation in 
matter, and for the rest the shillings were always welcome. 

He felt the edge of his knife with an appraising thumb, 
and then set to work to evolve a giraffe. He was par- 
ticularly partial to carving giraffes, because it was so 
interesting to burn the spots on afterwards. Moreover, 
there was alwa3^s the danger that you would break it 
when doing the neck, and this lent a pleasing element of 
excitement. Though he never lost sight of the money side 
of the occupation, he undoubtedly derived quite a lot of 
amusement and entertainment from the work. It was a 
sort of hobby. 

Old Ryan came back hot and voluble, though he could 
never manage to get angry with his cattle. 

“He’ll be the death o’ me,” he observed. “D’ye see 
the way he kep’ on eatin’ an’ eatin’ till I was jest about 
up wid him, an’ then off he goes slicker ’n a goat. I 
b’lieve th’ ole skulk creeps along on his stommick till 
he’s in the lucerne, for ye never see him gettin’ there. 
What’s that ye’re cuttin’ now?” 

“A giraffe.” 

“Ye don’t say! Powerful difficult ’t must be, him wid 
his long neck an’ all. Now I ha’n’t got the patience to 
sit down an’ do things like that. Maybe I’ll have a try 
at it one o’ these days, but it seems to me more useful 
to go an’ slap up a bit of fencin’, or potter round wid the 
flower seeds. Them nasturshums look real fine now.” 

“But I sell these,” the other man explained. 

“So ye do, but ye don’t get a hem of a lot for ’em. Is 
that your boy cornin’ here?” 

^ Van der Velde looked up and nodded. Then he resumed 
his labours with the giraffe. 

“Well, I’ll jest be seein’ if young Harry have found 
time to drop a line to th’ old man.” 

He walked down to meet the boy, and received from 
him a couple of letters. One was a business one from a 
store in the out districts, asking him if he would be able 
to ride transport for them within a couple of weeks; the 
other was from Harry. The old man shot a quick glance 
oyer his shoulder to see if Van der Velde was observing 
him, and then strolled away towards the little pool where 


An Interlude 2 1 1 

the pump was. He wanted to be alone while he read 
that letter. 

It was perhaps half-an-hour afterwards when he returned 
to the house, and he seemed to have aged in some subtle 
manner during the interval. There was not the same 
spring in his step, and there was a curious, stricken look 
in his eyes. 

Van der Velde looked up from his carving, and then 
put down his knife. 

“And so?” he queried. 

“I got a letter from th’ boy all right,” old Ryan 
answered, with a laugh that did not ring true. “Ye’ll 
never guess what th’ young rip hev done. Got engaged, 
he have, sure’s you’re alive ! An’ ’im always say in’ as 
he didn’t want no truck wid th’ girls, an’ all. He’s 
doin’ powerful well, an’ the firm he works for have given 
him a big rise, so’s he’ll be able to marry pretty well 
soon as he likes.” 

“And so — he will not be coming back? Not so? ” 

“ Well, ye can hardly expect as th’ boy will want to run 
away from the wife to come all this way. An’ still less 
will he want to run away before he marries her. D’ye 
remember how keen ye were when ye were courtin’ the 
missis? You better b’lieve he’ll be doin’ very well for 
himself now.” 

Perhaps there was a sympathetic understanding behind 
the usual stolid demeanour of Van der Velde. He nodded 
once or twice, and then picked up his knife again. 

“We will certainly go on trek together next summer, 
you and I — yes ! ” he said. 


CHAPTER XX 


PLOT 

For three weeks Feinbaum was not visible. It was 
understood that his injuries had been more serious than was 
at first supposed, and the doctor had ordered complete rest. 
He received quite a lot of sympathy, for the tale of how he 
had taken a big risk in order to avoid hurting a little child 
appealed to the gentler side of many people, whilst his 
courage in afterwards driving himself to the hospital was 
greatly admired. 

But there were just a few people who did not share the 
general feeling of sympathy, and one of these was Lens- 
ford. With his easy, careless manner, and his utter in- 
difference to whatever happened, one hardly expected 
Lensford to be a man of great tenacity of purpose; yet 
such was the case. Years before he had done everything 
in his power to unravel the mystery of Harris’s disappear- 
ance, and though he had proved to his own entire satis- 
faction that Feinbaum was at the bottom of the trouble, 
he could get no further. Either he or Harris had forged 
an endorsement on a bill, but it was impossible to say 
which of them. And certain aspects of the case had im- 
pressed him so forcibly that he had been keeping an eye 
on Feinbaum ever since. He knew that the latter was an 
entirely unprincipled blackguard, who might quite conceiv- 
ably become dangerous, and he liked to have as many 
details as possible ready for any emergency. He had dis- 
covered that Feinbaum had had more than one narrow 
escape from getting into serious trouble owing to his habit 
of taking liberties with young girls. Ugly tales were 
whispered, but, owing to the reluctance of the victims to 
come forward and tell of the shameful way they had been 
treated, no definite charge had ever been laid. Lensford 
collected all the particulars he could, and added dates and 
other particulars. He had not the slightest idea of making 

212 


Plot 


213 

any personal use of these notes, but he thought they might 
be useful one day. Also he knew that Feinbaum was quite 
unscrupulous in his business dealings, but he had been 
unable actually to catch him in flagrante delicto. 

Lensford was essentiallyi a nice-minded man, and it 
seemed to him monstrous that a person like Feinbaum 
should go on and flourish, climbing to fresh successes on 
the bodies of his victims, as it were. And perhaps it 
rankled a little that he had never been able definitely to 
fix the blame for Harris’s disappearance on to the other 
man. 

Between him and Feinbaum a very real hatred existed, 
Feinbaum knew that Lensford was quietly watching him — 
knew quite a lot about him, in all probability — and he was 
afraid. Lensford was always so very cool and collected, 
and never gave the slightest sign that he really knew any- 
thing ; and yet there was always the conviction that he did 
know. Feinbaum took a petty revenge by annoying Lens- 
ford in every possible manner during business hours, but 
even here he was never able to provoke any outward mani- 
festation of anger. Being himself a blusterer, the very 
quietness of the other man frightened him. 

On the Monday morning after the so-called accident, when 
Lensford had been left alone in the store, he had told one 
of the boys to force the door of Feinbaum ’s office. He had 
no ulterior motive in this, but thought that if he was to 
do Feinbaum ’s work at the store for the next week or so, 
he might as well have a private office available. He had 
found that little room in an indescribable state, and it had 
reawakened all his suspicions as to the real cause of Fein- 
baum ’s accident. Before calling the boy in to clean the 
place, he investigated very thoroughly on his own account. 
There was not much to discover, but he noticed the broken 
glass, and eventually found — a hairpin ! He took the 
heavy bottom of the glass, and the hairpin, and then told 
the boy to wash out the office thoroughly. 

That afternoon he went to the hospital. Feinbaum at 
once, and without being asked, explained the condition of 
his office by saying that the accident occurred quite close 
to it, and that he went inside to bind up his wounds, and 
waited till the storm was over. It sounded quite possible. 
Then Lensford managed to have a friendly chat with the 


The Debt 


214 

doctor who had dressed Feinbaum’s wounds, and found 
out the exact nature of these hurts. He did not say any- 
thing, but he came away with a thoughtful frown on his 
face. 

Once more he could almost reconstruct the incident, but 
once more one or two essentials were missing, and Fein- 
baum was again safe. To him it seemed abundantly clear 
that there had been a girl, and a quarrel. But who the 
girl was, or how the quarrel happened, was beyond him. 
He felt that Jenkins was connected with the matter some- 
how, but then Jenkins had disappeared even as Harris 
disappeared. And now the girl had also disappeared. The 
people who could testify against Feinbaum always seemed 
to disappear. And though he felt morally certain that 
Jenkins had used that gruesome weapon he had found in 
the office, he could not believe that he could have managed 
to best Feinbaum unless there was somebody helping him, 
which meant that there was another man who had disap- 
peared. And this, incidentally, also showed that he quite 
underrated the powers of the late storeman. 

It was Mrs. Mason who urged him to do his utmost to 
bring Feinbaum to justice. Indeed, that usually gentle old 
lady was probably the cause of Lensford’s interest in the 
man. She had been very fond of Harris, who was one of 
those weak men who appeal to the protective side of a 
woman, and she was quite sure Feinbaum had ruined him. 
Being a woman, she required no more proof than her own 
conviction, and she would have been utterly merciless had 
she been able to bring home his guilt to Feinbaum. 
Lensford had started his investigations into the man’s 
character solely at Mrs. Mason’s request, and though his 
discoveries led him to take a keen interest in the matter 
on his own account, that interest did not come till later. 
Like other decent men, he knew that many of his acquaint- 
ances had a dark side to their characters, but he preferred 
not to think about it. If the dark side became too obvious, 
the man ceased to be even an acquaintance. 

At the end of three weeks Feinbaum returned to the 
office. He was not nearly so badly scarred as might have 
been expected, for the heavy moustache he wore concealed 
the worst of the marks, and the other had healed very 
well. There was a livid weal across the bridge of the 


Plot— 


215 

nose, and another just beside it on the cheek ; but from a 
little distance these were not apparent, and he congratu- 
lated himself on having escaped lightly. 

Not that he would have deemed his injuries slight if he 
could have discovered Jenkins, but he rightly guessed that 
the little storeman was never likely to cross his path 
again, so perforce had to console himself with the reflection 
that he would exact a bitter vengeance from Ryan and 
Lensford — if he could get a chance. He felt convinced 
that in some mysterious way Lensford was at the bottom 
of the trouble, and he knew that Ryan and Jenkins had 
been great friends. Probably Lensford had overheard him 
telling Maggie to meet him, and had given Jenkins the tip 
to be present. Or perhaps Maggie had confided in Ryan, 
and it was through him that the disaster occurred. 

At the very outset he nearly committed himself by asking 
Lensford what he had done with the money in the drawer 
of the safe at the store. 

Lensford looked up quickly, for his restless mind imme- 
diately grasped the fact that the money might have ac- 
counted for the quarrel between Feinbaum and Jenkins. 

“What money?” he asked. 

Feinbaum did not care to venture too far. 

“Oh, just a little loose cash I left there,” he replied. 

“There was no money — only a note addressed to you. 
I think I have it here.” 

He rummaged among his papers, and discovered a very 
dirty envelope addressed simply to “ R. Feinbaum.” 

The latter opened it at once, and found it contained a 
curt and characteristic parting shot from Jenkins. 

“ Seems a pitty to waste the munny you and yer kaffer 
wajis. ow about yer face I didnt arf mark yer I don’t 
think, yer dam blaggard.” 

There was no formal beginning or end, and when he had 
read the message he folded the note and put it in his 
pocket. 

“That’s all right,” he said. “It was to pay one of the 
stable hands, but Jenkins says he took it. I told him 
where I had put it.” 

Lensford knew perfectly well that this was a lie, but it 
would have served no good purpose to say so. That 
drawer in the safe had been locked, and Feinbaum was 


2i6 


The Debt 


not the man knowingly to let Jenkins have a duplicate key. 
It looked as if there had just been an ordinary row between 
the two, but, if so, why did Feinbaum keep quiet about 
it? And what was that hairpin doing there? 

“You’d better run down to the store and take stock,” 
he suggested quietly. “ I think everything is in order, but 
it is as well for you to know just what is there. Don’t 
be too hard on Ryan. Remember he is fairly new to the 
work.” 

And Feinbaum was not hard on Ryan. On the contrary, 
he was wonderfully affable. He had argued the matter 
with himself, and had decided that Ryan was not the sort 
of man with whom it would pay to be outwardly offensive ; 
but he was so very guileless that even a little dissimulation 
would allay any suspicions he might have. And Feinbaum 
had to work altogether in the dark at first. He could not 
know if Frances had said anything, and it behoved him 
to walk very warily. 

But as the days passed, and nothing was said, he knew 
that once more his cleverness had carried him through. 
Like other girls he had known, Frances had shrunk from 
relating what had happened that afternoon, and nobody 
was any the wiser. Moreover, he knew that, as she had 
refrained from speaking at the time, she could hardly do 
so some weeks afterwards. It would look altogether too 
peculiar. People would naturally ask why she had kept 
quiet all this time, and the question would be very difficult 
to answer. Her very modesty and sense of shame had 
placed her in a false position, and he had nothing to fear 
from her. 

At first he could hardly believe that Maggie was ignorant 
of what had occurred, but eventually he had to think so 
almost in spite of himself. She was so intensely happy in 
her love for Ryan that she was not disposed to remember 
old grievances, and, further, she believed the popular 
version of the accident, and felt that there must be some 
good in a man who would willingly risk his own life to 
save that of a child. Therefore she smiled at him in a 
more friendly manner when he had occasion to speak to her 
in the office, and though at first he was deeply suspicious, 
in the end he accepted the astonishing reprieve Fate had 
granted him, and — began a fresh campaign. 


Plot 


217 

For, of course, Maggie must suffer. She was at the 
bottom of the whole trouble, and every time he saw his 
scarred face in the g’lass, he vowed that she should pay 
bitterly for it. He frankly couldn’t understand why 
Frances had not told her what had occurred, but, since 
she most obviously had not, it made things so much the 
easier for him. His was a cruel, revengeful nature, and 
he had been hurt both bodily, mentally, and financially. 
He hardly knew which was the worst hurt — the one to his 
pride, in that a girl had despised him, and had called him 
those rankling names ; the one to his body — but what did 
it matter? All were due to Frances interfering, and 
Maggie was the cause of that. And Maggie was engaged 
to Ryan, who was a great friend of Lensford’s; and both 
of these men had already incurred his enmity. 

He was hardly sane in this matter of his hatreds, for 
once any man had done him a real or imaginary injury, 
he brooded over it continuously till it became almost a 
mania with him. It didn’t matter if the whole business 
were something absurdly trivial, once he had decided he 
had a grievance, he couldn’t rest till his desire for ven- 
geance was satisfied. He called it getting even, and there 
were many people in Johannesburg who had suffered in 
this connection. As often as not they had not the slightest 
idea that Feinbaum had retaliated in any way, and some of 
them did not even know of Feinbaum ’s existence. There 
was one man who had sworn at him for elbowing him on 
the car one day. Feinbaum had followed the man to his 
house, and that night had smashed three of his windows. 
It was mean and petty enough in all conscience, but he 
told himself he had got even. There was no glory in his 
vengeance, for he preferred not to be connected with it 
in any way — apparently. 

And now he was constantly brooding over Ryan, and 
Lensford, and Maggie, and Frances. Hitherto he had 
been content to get even with Lensford only in insignificant 
matters, but now the long-simmering hatred threatened to 
become dangerous. And he hated the others every bit as 
much, for in his twisted mind they were all connected in 
a kind of conspiracy against him — he had to get even with 
them all. 

He would start with Maggie and Ryan. He would have 


The Debt 


218 

preferred to start with Lensford, but he didn’t know just 
how much that careless, quiet person knew, and he was 
afraid. He knew it, and hated himself for it ; but there 
it was — he was afraid of Lensford. But it was so easy 
with Maggie and Ryan. They were engaged, and appar- 
ently very fond of each other; obviously he must wreck 
the engagement. He didn’t anticipate very much diffi- 
culty, for he considered that Ryan was very simple, and 
Maggie was very silly. With such a combination to 
work on, a man of his intelligence could do pretty well 
as he liked. And there was always Ethel to help. 

He did not go to Edendale for a full fortnight after he 
returned to the office, for he wanted to make perfectly 
sure that he was still on the same footing as of old. If 
Frances had told her stepmother, you never knew how she 
might take it. She might regard the whole thing as a 
joke, or a ridiculous exaggeration ; but then, on the other 
hand, she might not. Feinbaum quite understood that 
Mrs. Harris as an enemy would be something he would not 
care to face. But by judicious inquiry he had quickly 
assured himself that Mrs. Harris regarded him in the 
light of a hero, which plainly meant that Frances had said 
nothing. As regarded Maggie, he didn’t mind so much, 
though when he at last convinced himself that she also 
was ignorant of what had happened, he was distinctly 
relieved, for it undoubtedly made things much easier. 

He drove up to Edendale in his two-seater car one 
evening after business hours, and found the family sitting 
on the verandah. Ethel rose with a little cry of pleasure, 
and came to the gate to welcome him. Two of her girl 
friends happened to be passing at the moment, so she 
called him Rudolf twice, and hoped they noted the pro- 
prietary accent she gave the nartie. It was the sort of 
mistake she could not help making, though it meant that 
Feinbaum would make her suffer for it later. 

“Rudolf, why haven’t you been up before?” she ex- 
claimed. “My poor Rudolf! We have all been so fear- 
fully anxious about you. And how brave you were ! 
Frances said she believed 3'ou made it all up, but of 
course I knew better.” 

“Oh, she said that, did she?” Feinbaum rejoined, as 
he climbed out of the car. He laughed a little, as though 


Plot— 


219 

some sudden thought had appealed to him irresistibly. 
“Of course I’ve been beastly busy, putting things to 
rights after my absence, so that’s why I haven’t been up 
before. And in any case you needn’t shout at me so that 
the whole neighbourhood can hear you.” 

“I’m so sorry. But I was so delighted to see you ” 

Feinbaum nodded impatiently, and walked up the steps 
to greet Mrs. Harris. He noticed that Frances had gone 
inside as soon as she had known who the visitor was, and 
he smiled again. It was really quite amusing. 

“How d’you do, Mrs. Harris?” he said boisterously. 
“I’m afraid to look at you now, with my face all cut up 
like this. Wasn’t much of a face at the best of times, 
hey ? But now ! And Maggie there has had such a 
peaceful time in the office, without me to worry her, that 
she’s looking prettier than ever. Don’t blush, Maggie. 
This isn’t business hours, so I don’t have to keep you in 
your place. We’re friends after five o’clock, and I forget 
all about the mistakes you have made in the letters.” 

“She’s a good girl,” Mrs. Harris answered placidly, 
unconsciously speaking of her own daughter before re- 
ferring to the accident in any way. She was very proud 
of Maggie since the engagement. “But what a terrible 
time you must have had. I think it was wonderfully 
brave of you to drive yourself to the hospital when you 
were all cut about like that. Maggie, just run in and 
make some tea, will you, my dear? ” 

Maggie rose obediently, and as she passed Mrs. Harris 
whispered fiercely — 

“Tell Frances she is to come out at once.” 

Feinbaum heard the whisper, and smiled again. 

“And now tell us all about how it occurred,” Mrs. 
Harris resumed. “ Remember that we have only heard 
other people’s versions up to now, and we are so sorry for 
you.” 

It was a rather incoherent remark, but Feinbaum 
seemed to understand. Nothing loth, he plunged into the 
entirely imaginary narrative which they expected, while 
Mrs. Harris listened attentively, and Ethel looked at him 
with an expression that was meant to convey the idea 
that her soul was in her eyes. She had read that in a 
book, and it had struck her as being very pretty. But at 


220 


The Debt 


the same time it was noticeable that she moved her chair 
so that people passing the house would have an uninter- 
rupted view of her. 

And, meanwhile, Maggie went in to make tea. She 
saw Frances in the yard at the back of the house, and 
went out to give her message. 

“Mother says you’re to go to her at once,” she said. 

Frances sighed. Too late she realised that it would 
have been better to tell her tale straight out, and risk any 
ridicule which might have been heaped upon her. At 
least she would have had a very real excuse for avoiding 
Feinbaum afterwards, and perhaps her stepmother would 
have believed her. She was beginning to have a hazy 
suspicion that Mrs. Harris was not so truculent and 
unsympathetic as she contrived to appear. But, of 
course, it was too late now. 

“Oh, does she,” she rejoined. “Well, do you mind 
telling her that I’ve gone out? You needn’t say I was 
only as far as the yard, and I’ll get my hat at once and 
really go.” 

“Right you are,” Maggie replied readily. “I hate him 
as much as you do, Frances, but I don’t mind talking to 
him so much now that I have Harry.” 

She went into the kitchen, and proceeded to make the tea. 

She sung little snatches of song as she got out the best 
cups and tea service, for it was half-past five, and Harry 
might be home at any moment. What did a man like 
Mr. Feinbaum matter now? What did hundreds of Mr. 
Feinbaums matter? She felt so very strong in the pro- 
tection of her lover that it made her laugh to think how 
terrified she had been in the past. Of course it was silly 
of her ! Perhaps he had really only meant to be friendly, 
and it was because of the tales she had heard that she was 
afraid. And that time he was really rude ! Very likely 
Ethel had been allowing liberties, and he thought he could 
take them with her, too. She had no faith in Ethel’s dis- 
cretion, or even her moral rectitude, so far as that went. 
But it was really nothing to do with her if her elder sister 
didn’t know how to behave. 

She was inclined to judge people from a purely com- 
parative standpoint. If Ethel was wicked, there were 
other girls who were much wickeder, and they went 


Plot— 


221 


about everywhere. She was rather proud of her own 
good record, and was inclined to think that she was 
entitled to much praise for having played the game during 
her not very long life. For in Johannesburg it is the 
exception rather than the rule to play the game, and she 
was essentially a Johannesburger. 

She returned to the verandah to find Feinbaum still hold- 
ing forth about his wonderful escape, while Ethel sat with 
her hands clasped before her, and one eye keeping watch 
and ward over the path outside. 

“The trouble is that I have to pay the doctor,” Fein- 
baum was saying. “The firm pays for the damage to the 
car, but that was trifling. Just the wind-screen smashed, 
and practically nothing else. It’s not often I have that 
screen up either, but just that afternoon I thought I would. 

I must have looked very funny as my head shot through.” 

“Don’t! ” Ethel exclaimed, with a realistic shudder. 

“Oh, it’s all over now,” he replied magnificently. “We 
men who are always driving about in motors have to take 
our risks, and I’ve been very lucky so far. And here 
comes Mr. Ryan. Ah 1 I thought that would make the 
colour come to your cheeks, Maggie ! Does he behave 
well, or do you have to give him a rap over the knuckles 
occasionally ? ” 

Maggie, alas ! giggled. She hated him for saying that, 
and would have loved to crush him with a scornful glance. 
But her mother would not have approved of the scornful 
glance, and, in any case, she was taken by surprise. She 
rose quickly and ran down to the gate to meet her lover. 
And at least she did not worry about the rest of the 
world, for to her he was the whole world. 

Feinbaum made himself particularly agreeable while 
Ryan was present, but, when the latter had vanished with 
Maggie, and Mrs. Harris had made an excuse to go 
inside, he turned to Ethel with a twisted smile. 

“I hate to see two people sloppy about each other like 
that,” he observed, with a sneer. 

“They’re quite ridiculous,” Ethel assented dutifully, 
“and you wouldn’t believe how selfish they are; always 
wanting to be together ” 

“And never offering to take you out, hey? ” 

“Oh, I don’t want to go with them. I wouldn’t if they 


222 The Debt 

asked me, for I’m sure everybody would look at them, the 
way they go on.” 

‘‘And, of course, you don’t like to be looked at! And 
yet, if I remember rightly, you have sometimes reproached 
me because I wasn’t a little more — er — sloppy.” 

‘‘Oh, Rudolf! — don't! You know that’s quite differ- 
ent; and the idea of comparing yourself with him.” 

‘‘I didn’t. I suppose it is different, but you’re always 
blaming other people for the very things you do yourself — 
or that you would do if you got half a chance. It makes 
me pretty fed up sometimes.” 

Ethel felt for her handkerchief. She had expected that 
after his long absence Feinbaum would be particularly 
amiable, and might even offer to take her somewhere ; 
but he was evidently in a bad mood. If only she could 
afford to treat him like Frances did, or even Maggie. 
But she dared not run the risk of driving him away, and 
she had an uneasy conviction that a very little excuse 
would be quite enough for him. 

‘‘I’ve been so unhappy without you,” she quavered, 
‘‘and I did hope you would be nice to me this afternoon. 
What have I done? ” 

‘‘Now, don’t start crying, or I shall clear out at once,” 
he answered. “You haven’t done anything in particular, 
but you don’t seem to care a bit about the way Maggie 
insulted me that Saturday before the accident.” 

“ Of course I mind ! ” she rejoined indignantly. “ I 
would have got her into a row, too ; but that afternoon 
she got engaged to Mr. Ryan, and mother wouldn’t listen 
to anything I said.” 

“ Good Lord, what a baby you are ! The idea of a 
woman of your age going and sneaking to her mother. 
Haven’t you any pride?” 

“Well, she would have got into no end of a row, any 
way.” 

“But that’s not the point. Why don’t you manage 
these things yourself? It’s only children in short dresses 
who sneak to their mothers — and even then they have to 
be pretty beastly kids. Couldn’t you have managed 
something on your own account? ” 

“But what could I do? ” 

Feinbaum leaned back with a little sigh of satisfaction. 


Plot— 


223 

The tone of Ethel’s voice told him that she was still ready 
to help him when he wanted her. 

“It’s rather rotten Maggie getting engaged before 
you, isn ’t it ? ” he said casually. “ She ’s two years younger. ” 

Ethel said nothing. In view of her hopes concerning 
Feinbaum himself, it would have been a very difficult 
matter to answer with suitable discretion. 

“In a way, I suppose, you think you’re engaged to 
me,” he went on. 

Ethel endeavoured to look embarrassed. 

“At least, you’ve been going round telling all your 
friends that you are virtually engaged to me,” he added, 
and smiled maliciously. 

“How can you say such a thing, Rudolf?” she de- 
manded. “I’ve never said a single word ” 

“Oh, don’t lie to me,” he said brutally. “You can’t 
even tell a lie well, as I’ve told you. And I don’t mind 
your telling people — it’s you that run the risk, not me. 
But I could tell you at least half-a-dozen families who 
have had the news direct from you. They told me them- 
selves, and I said it was the funniest thing I had heard 
for a long time.” 

There was a little silence, while Ethel strove to find 
words which would explain away the unexplainable. 

“A man doesn’t like to be rushed,” Feinbaum went on 
again, “and I suppose stranger things have happened. 
But I would never get engaged to a girl unless I was 
absolutely sure she put me before the whole world — before 
her own soul. You see, there are so many girls who like 
dances, and theatres, and other amusements, and who 
are quite willing to be very kind if you oblige them in 
these respects. Therefore matrimony seems a mistake. 
If you marry a girl you have to pay for a house, and her 
food, and her clothes, in addition to dances and theatres, 
and it’s an expensive business. That’s why I should 
want to be very sure indeed of a girl before I offered to 
marry her.” 

“Of course,” Ethel replied, very earnestly. 

There was another pause, and then he remarked 
casually — 

“Maggie was exceedingly rude to me. I find it par- 
ticularly hard to forgive her, even if she is your sister.” 


The Debt 


224 

“I wouldn’t forgive her,” Ethel maintained. 

Feinbaum smiled ever so slightly. 

‘‘It would be rather amusing if her engagement was 
broken off,” he went on musinglyu 

‘‘They are very fond of each other,” Ethel replied. 

“ Of course they are — now. But there are plenty of 
possibilities. Ryan is very proud in some ways, and 
dashed poor. Why don’t you ask him to take you out 
sometimes? You’re Maggie’s sister.” 

‘‘But what good would that do? ” 

He leaned forward, and his eyes blazed into hers. 

“Can’t you see? He wouldn’t like to say no, but it 
would make him keep on spending money. And Maggie 
would hate it, for she has a jealous nature. Also she 
knows what you are, which don’t tend to reassure her. 
And you might suggest that she should give up her billet 
now that she’s engaged. And worry them as to when 
they are getting married. I’ll take a hand myself, and 
ask her to come out with me. I promise you my 
behaviour will be above reproach, but Ryan won’t enjoy 
it any the more for that. She’s very weak, and he’s a 
fool, so we have very promising material to work on. 
Ethel, I’m not a vindictive man as a rule, but I haven’t 
told you half the things Maggie, has said to me, because 
she knows she is your sister, and I can’t retaliate; and, 
moreover, that chap Ryan threatened to throw me out of 
the store one day. I’d give anything to get a bit of my 
own back by upsetting their little apple-cart, and if you 
help me I’ll promise — that is. I’ll take you to one of the 
Carlton house dances.” 

Ethel was almost frightened by his vehemence, but, 
above everything else, she knew that he was nearer her 
then than ever he had been. She hated Maggie and hated 
Ryan — hated them for their very happiness, and for their 
utter indifference to her. It would please her small soul 
immensely if she could hurt them in any way, but, infinitely 
more than that, it would give her a hold over Feinbaum. 
Poor little fool, even after all this time she had no idea 
of the real character of the man to whom she was almost 
engaged. 

“Come into the drawing-room,” she said, looking round 
fearfully. “We can talk there, and nobody can hear us.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


— ^AND COUNTERPLOT 

Mrs. Mason reclined gracefully in a comfortable wicker 
chair on the secluded lawn at the back of her house. 
There are very few houses in Johannesburg which have a 
lawn at all — much less a secluded one. A solitary fir-tree 
gave ample shade, though the weather was by no means 
warm. But the sun, even in winter, has much power in 
South African latitudes, and the old lady hated a glare. 
A bed of violets near by filled the air with their fragrance, 
and the whole scene was one of restfulness and beauty. 

She was clad in an afternoon gown of deep green, for 
she had long ago given up wearing black, and, despite 
her age, still told herself she knew what suited her. Over 
her shoulders was a velvet cloak of the same colour, 
edged with fur. It was a relic of a bygone fashion, but 
then Mrs. Mason also belonged to the past. One could 
hardly have imagined her in a hobble skirt. 

Beside her, lying stretched out on the faded grass, was 
a huge boarhound; whilst a couple of cats strolled uncon- 
cernedly over the recumbent form. And in a deck chair 
beside her sat Lensford. 

“It’s ripping to be able to sit outside again, after the 
biting winds we’ve been having lately,’’ he observed lazily. 

“Yes,” she agreed. “But this is a very secluded corner, 
you must remember. The old Cape-boy who superintends 
my garden has very explicit instructions about this par- 
ticular spot. There must always be flowers here, no 
matter what the season, for I love flowers. And the grass 
must be kept as green as it can be — which is not so very 
green after all, when winter is upon us. Will you have 
some more tea, Frank? You may pour me out another 
cup.” 

He rose to do her bidding, and then sat down again 
with a little sigh. 

Q 


225 


The Debt 


226 

“Is it the same trouble? ” she asked sympathetically. 

“The same. I am filled with a sense of my own hope- 
less idiocy, and that is very bad for one’s self-respect.” 

“Meaning that Mr. Ryan is getting out of hand.” 

“Not at all. Merely that he is unhappy. Now why in 
the name of everything sensible did I lure him away from 
his wagons, and his oxen, and his funny old father ? By 
the way, I fancy the funny old father will miss his son 
quite a lot too, which doesn’t improve matters.” 

“ But what is the particular trouble now ? ” 

“It is not particular — it is confoundedly indefinite — 
your pardon, dear lady — and that’s what makes it so 
infinitely difficult. Haven’t you noticed that he and little 
Maggie do not seem so wrapped up in each other as 
they were? ” 

The old lady nodded as she handed him her cup. 

“They have been here several times,” she said, “and I 
have certainly noticed it. At first they used to look at 
each other and long to get away. Now they look at me 
and long for me to say something.” 

“You can’t imagine how it has upset me. You know 
me as I am, dear lady, and even so have accepted me as 
a friend. But Ryan really knew me not at all. It was 
sheer light-hearted carelessness that made me ask him to 
Johannesburg, and then launch him as I did, but the 
results have been deplorable. Mind you, I never expected 
for a moment that he would come. And when he did, I 
determined to give him a good time, and then pack him 
back to the wilds, where he belongs. But look at the 
position now ! I have stolen him from his dear old father, 
and given him — dust and ashes ! The trouble is that he 
is not at all a weak man. Were that the case, I might 
have managed him. But in his slow, thoughtful way he 
is the most determined man I ever met. He will never 
leave Johannesburg till he pays his debts.” 

“And his marriage?” 

“That is even worse. I thought it was bad enough 
when he became entangled with Maggie Harris, but only 
when the engagement was a fait accompli did I realise 
just how bad it was. Those debts crush him. With his 
meagre salary, how can he hope to wipe them off, and 
take her about, and still put by a little? It is absurd on 


— and Counterplot 227 

the face of it. And where the question of money creeps 
in, love is sure to suffer.” 

“Which perhaps explains why there is so little real love 
in Johannesburg, Frank.” 

“ Undoubtedly. And once his eyes have been opened, 
cannot you picture a man of his nature worrying and 
worrying over the matter, till his love for Maggie becomes 
but ordinary affection, and then toleration, and then — 
what? But he will still marry her.” 

One of the cats leaped lightly on to the old lady’s lap, 
and she caressed it gently. 

“ I wonder,” she said. “ I have seen him looking and 
looking at nothing, while those expressive eyes of his 
asked a question again and again and found no answer. 
He reminds me of a huge, patient ox which has been 
wounded somewhere, and one cannot find where.” 

“I wish we could induce him to speak,” Lensford went 
on regretfully. “ It may be something quite insignificant, 
and yet I have a queer feeling that there is a tragedy 
imminent.” 

“ Perhaps it is not the money question which is causing 
the trouble,” Mrs. Mason said quietly. 

Lensford sat up suddenly and looked hard at her. 

“Do you mean . . . anything? ” he asked. 

“Perhaps I do, Frank. And you?” 

He was silent for some moments. In a tree near by 
a bird with a most unmelodious voice made a vain 
essay at song, and he impatiently threw a bit of sugar 
at it. 

“Sometimes,” he remarked at last, “I think I must be 
absurd to think such a thing, but ... I can’t get it out 
of my head that that beggar Feinbaum is at the bottom 
of all the trouble. He is so very friendly with Ryan, and 
he is most to be feared when he is friendly. He was a 
friend to Harris, you remember. For the life of me I 
can’t see just how he is causing trouble, but I distrust 
him very thoroughly. Also he’s very friendly with Maggie. 
Sometimes he sits in her office and chats for quite a time. 
Lately it has struck me that she seems to be terrified of 
him. It may be my fancy, of course. ...” 

She was looking at him with those wonderful eyes of 
hers blazing strangely. The very mention of Feinbaum ’s 
Q 2 


228 


The Debt 


name was enough to rouse her anger, and if he had been 
daring to interfere again ! 

“There is something else,” she said authoritatively. 

“Yes.” He felt in his waistcoat pocket and produced 
a little screw of paper. From this he took a hairpin. 

“You see this?” he went on. “I found it in Fein- 
baum’s office after the supposed accident. I told you what 
the office was like, but up to now I haven’t mentioned 
the hairpin. You will see that it is not an ordinary 
hairpin — not that I know much about such things. It 
has two waists. Well, it may be nothing, and there may 
be hundreds of women wearing pins just like it, but . . . 
Maggie Harris affects that style, I notice.” 

Mrs. Mason was looking thoughtfully at the hairpin. 

“Yes,” she agreed. “Probably they all wear them — 
all the girls in that house. Some weeks ago I made 
Frances take her hair down one afternoon — she has most 
beautiful hair, you know — and I noticed that she had pins 
like this. I advised her to use the ordinary ones, as these 
are not so tidy to work with, and that’s why I remember.” 

“Couldn’t you get her to make Maggie talk? ” 

“My dear Frank — I could coax the inmost soul out of 
Maggie with the greatest ease. She is by no means a 
deep person, and a little judicious questioning would at 
least give me sufficient hints to piece a story together. 
But Maggie has very little to tell. Feinbaum is persecut- 
ing her, and several times she has practically told me so. 
But I did not realise how bad it was. You must remember 
that Mr. Ryan is usually here with her, so I don’t have 
much time for private conversation. Now Frances is 
quite different. She is wonderfully strong and self-reliant, 
and if she did not want to talk about something, all the 
skilful questioning in the world would be quite ineffective. 

I wonder if . . . she knows anything about that hairpin?” 

She spoke as though the words were wrung from her 
almost against her will. She had come to love Frances 
with a love infinitely stronger than she had bestowed on 
her as a child, and lately it had seemed to her that there 
was some restraint — that Frances had something on her 
mind, but would not speak of it. Was it possible that 
Feinbaum had dared to interfere with her also? 

“But what has she to do with it? ” Lensford asked. 


— and Counterplot 229 

“That is what I must try to find out. Do you know, 
1 am inclined to think that that hairpin may be the clue 
to the whole business. How long is it since that so-called 
accident? Three months? Yes, that would be about the 
time. But it is only since Feinbaum began to go about 
again that we have noticed there is something wrong. 
Remember that, Frank. The man is an absolute devil, 
and I would believe anything about him. Nothing is too 
bad, too despicable for him, and perhaps Maggie’s beauty 
and freshness have attracted him, and he is deliberately 
trying to cause discord between her and Mr. Ryan. But 
though I am old, I am still able to think clearly, and act 
with a certain amount of discretion ; I shall certainly 
probe this to the bottom. By the way, Frances will be 
here this afternoon. What is the time now? Nearly 
four ! My dear Frank, it is scandalous the way you waste 
the office time ! Go away now — and come back again 
after five. I will have a long talk to Frances, and this 
time I mean to find out what is causing all the trouble. 
Give me your arm to the house. It will get chilly in a 
little while, and there is a cheerful fire in the drawing- 
room waiting for me.” 

Lensford gently supported her, though she was still 
more than capable of getting about by herself. It was a 
little enough thing in itself, but it was one of those 
attentions — those trifling services and courtesies — which 
mean so much to a woman whose life is behind her. 

“Go away now, Frank,” she said, when he had escorted 
her to the sunny drawing-room, with its bright fire giving 
the warmth which the deceptive winter sun was not able 
to diffuse through the house. “Go down to your office, 
or for a spin somewhere if you are too lazy to work, and 
come back later on. Shall we say about six? Frances 
will be gone then, and perhaps it will be as well if she 
doesn’t see you immediately after confiding in me; for 
you may rest assured she will confide in me to-day.” 

Lensford arranged a soft cushion comfortably for her, 
and then walked to the door. 

“Exit the Good Young Man,” he said cheerfully, “and 
enter — presently — the damsel in distress. It only remains 
to induce the Heavy Villain to walk into the trap which 
is about to be set for him.” 


The Debt 


230 

Mrs. Mason shut her mouth with a positive snap. 

“ I wish he would really run into something with that 
car,” she exclaimed, “and break his neck.” 

“But of course Heavy Villains never do what the nice 
people want them to. And so au revoir.'^ 

He walked slowly down the little drive — it was a bare 
thirty yards in length — to the gate, because owing to the 
somewhat restricted area for manoeuvring he did not as 
a rule bring his car inside. In view of his greater im- 
portance, by the way, Lensford always had a four-seater 
car, with a chauffeur in attendance. 

He hesitated for a few moments when the man asked 
where he should go. There was no particular reason why 
he should call at the office again that afternoon; and he 
did not desire to run down to his club because he knew 
that would mean numerous appetisers, and a certain 
difficulty in escaping in time to keep his second appoint- 
ment. 

“Better drive to the store,” he said finally. 

He would see if he could induce Ryan to talk. After 
all, there was no reason why he shouldn’t be as successful 
in that direction as Mrs. Mason might be with Frances. 
The only difficulty was that he felt pretty sure Ryan 
really did not have much to tell. However, it was worth 
a trial, and at least Ryan knew something about the 
departure of Jenkins. 

He arrived at the store to find the road blocked by three 
railway lorries, which were discharging a miscellaneous 
cargo of pipes, and steel rods, and spares for the batteries, 
and boxes of valves and fittings, and numerous other 
sundries which go towards making the mining industry 
of the Rand as expensive as it is complicated. Ryan was 
seated just inside the main store, his coat off in spite of 
the cold weather, and his eternal pipe stuck in one corner 
of his mouth. He was perfectly calm and quiet, and as 
a natural result the boys worked energetically and sensibly, 
and there was not even a suggestion of confusion. Beside 
him — even more calm and collected, and in a state of oily 
blackness — was the man who drove the traction engine 
which pulled the railway lorries. 

Ryan rose as soon as he saw Lensford. 

“Afternoon, Mr. Lensford,” he said. “Forty-six, 


— and Counterplot 231 

forty-seven, forty-eight. That’s two short you are on the 
three-inch pipes.” 

The railway man consulted his way-bill. 

“Right,” he assented carelessly. “Perhaps they are 
on the third trolley. That’s only the second they are 
off-loading now. Mark it forty-eight so long, and keep it 
open till we’ve finished.” 

He regarded Lensford with a sort of apathetic interest, 
as somebody who was not black and oily, and therefore 
was not worthy of more than passing attention. 

“I’ve just come down to have a yarn with you,” Lens- 
ford said to Ryan. “Wait till you’ve got all that stuff 
off, and then give me a shout.” 

He strolled through the stores, his careless but discern- 
ing gaze noting exactly what was there, and in what 
departments stocks were running a bit low. With so 
many firms trying to get a footing in the mine supplies 
business, and ready to cut prices ruinously in order to 
secure a few orders from the buyers for the big groups, 
it behoved one to be always careful. Lensford himself 
was safe from interference, for he was sole agent for one 
or two standard lines ; but on behalf of the firm he had to 
take a very real interest in the ordinary competitive goods. 
He knew that all the mines were represented by just one 
or two buyers, and that it was necessary to keep on the 
right side of these men. They were one of the many 
characteristic types of the Rand, in that they might be 
nothing whatever, and then by some means or other they 
were appointed buyer for such-and-such a group of mines, 
and after that, without the least trouble to themselves, 
they became persons of much importance, and the man in 
the street spoke of them in whispers, and pointed them 
out as they went by. “Do you see him?” they would 
say. “That’s Brownlow, the buyer for Eastern Districts. 
If only you can get on the right side of him you’re on a 
soft wicket.” And so Brownlow would go on his import- 
ant way, envied and admired, though possibly he really 
knew absolutely nothing concerning the things he was to 
buy, and really took no interest in the matter at all, except 
to draw the two-and-a-half per cent, commission on all 
orders, which amounted to a very comfortable sum per 
mensem. 


The Debt 


232 

Lensford returned to Ryan when the black and oily 
railwayman had departed, and sat himself down somewhat 
gingerly on a roll of copper wire. 

“just pleasure, my dear chap,” he announced. “Don’t 
feel like any more work to-day, so thought I would come 
and worry you. How are things going these days? ” 

Ryan gave a few directions to the boys who were 
stacking the recently arrived goods, and then answered. 

“Pretty middling, thank you, Mr. Lensford,” he said. 
“I haven’t managed to pay off anything on those accounts 
I owe, but the men don’t worry me at all. You see, I 
like to take Maggie here and there, and ;^25 doesn’t go 
a very long way, I find.” 

“That’s the idea,” Lensford said heartily. “Take her 
about now, Ryan, and then she won’t expect it so much 
when she is married.” 

Which was as fallacious an argument as could have 
been desired. The woman who has once been blooded 
to the more frivolous life of Johannesburg would still 
want it though she were forty times married. It serves 
to kill time, and prevent too much thinking; and it is the 
only thing talked about over afternoon tea — except the 
various amounts of money made by various people, and 
the morals of the married. 

“I wish I could make a little more money,” Ryan went 
on wistfully. 

“Oh, you don’t want to be in too much of a hurry,” 
Lensford replied. “Marry in a year or eighteen months, 
and it’s quite soon enough. You can start saving as 
soon as you like, and when the happy time arrives, you’ll 
be clear of all embarrassments, and have a nice little sum 
to start.” 

Which was also fallacious. A man who owes over a 
hundred pounds, and is engaged to boot, does not save 
much out of £ 2 ^ per month in Johannesburg. As a 
matter of fact, Lensford knew perfectly well that Ryan 
was practically in a hopeless position financially, but it 
would have served no good purpose to say so. 

“Mr. Feinbaum is clever at making money,” Ryan said, 
after a rather perceptible pause. 

Lensford looked up quickly. 

“He is,” he assented dryly. 


— and Counterplot 233 

“Yes. He sometimes comes here and talks to me 
about money matters, and I know a lot more now than 
I used to. I don’t like him, Mr. Lensford, but he seems 
to be taking an interest in me, and says he would like to 
help. He says there are heaps and heaps of ways of 
making money in Johannesburg, and that he knows a lot 
of men who never really do a stroke of work, and who 
make four or five times as much as I do. They find one 
man who wants money, and another who has some to 
lend, and then introduce them to each other, and take 
two-and-a-half commission.” 

Lensford laughed. There was just enough leavening of 
truth in Ryan’s tale to make it appeal to him, but the 
difficulties had all been smoothed away in the narrative. 
One half of Johannesburg lives by discounting the bills 
of the other half, and waxes fat by charging extra com- 
mission each time the bill becomes due. For everybody 
is tied up in the share market, and half the bills circulating 
could only be met by ruinous realisation of securities. It 
is no dishonour in Johannesburg to have your cheque 
returned dishonoured by the bank, but it is unwise to do 
it too often if the payee knows he can force your hand 
by suing you. The commercial code is purely one of 
expediency. 

“It’s not so easy as it sounds, Ryan,” he said. “It is 
nice to make money without any trouble, but you must 
remember that the easier you do so, the greater you can 
reckon the risk. If you get twenty per cent, for your 
money, as a good many of Mr. Feinbaum’s friends prob- 
ably do, you have to be a smart man to keep an eye on 
the original principal.” 

“ But he says a lot of the big men here started with 
absolutely nothing, the same as I am, and look at them 
to-day ! Plenty of money, and everybody polite to them.” 

Lensford knew that Feinbaum’s words had sunk deep, 
but he was a little hazy as to Feinbaum’s motives. 

“My dear chap,” he said, “don’t worry about things 
you can’t understand. I’m much more of a business man 
than you are, but even I am quite at sea in this com- 
mission business. You have to be not only a financial 
genius, but a lawyer, and a prize fighter, and heaven 
knows what else besides. And what are these friends of 


The Debt 


234 

Feinbaum’s who make money so easily? Jews, my dear 
chap — all Jews. And you can’t hope to compete with a 
Jew, Ryan, I can assure you. A Jew has financial courage 
which carries him through situations which would give 
you cold shivers, and he doesn’t turn a hair. He is a born 
gambler, and he will stake everything on one particular 
deal and never flinch. But you must remember this — a 
Jew has no commercial honour as we understand it. He 
takes the risks, and takes them as big as you like — the 
bigger the better, for that means the greater the problem- 
atical success — knowing that if the deal ends disastrously 
he can at most be made insolvent. No one minds going 
insolvent in Johannesburg. The creditors squirm, and 
perhaps some women cry a little, and some children are 
starved, but the insolvent gets a fresh start, and — begins 
another gamble. He may go insolvent two or three times, 
and nobody thinks any the worse of him. And sooner or 
later he brings it off, and becomes rich ; whereupon people 
remember his trips through the Insolvency Court less than 
ever. So long as things come his way the Jew will pay 
his bills as regularly as can be desired ; but when the 
gamble goes against him, it’s a straight road for a fresh 
start, and perhaps threepence in the pound for the 
creditors. VVe humdrum, matter-of-fact Englishmen are 
troubled with consciences and a lack of financial courage 
— if you will. Either we plod along slowly, and never get 
anywhere in particular, happy in the approval of our 
restless consciences ; or we make a bid for riches — as often 
as not an utterly impracticable bid — and when it fails we 
. . . try our luck in another world. We haven’t the 
courage to face the remarks of the people we have known, 
and we take the Big Risk in preference. The Jew cares 
not a jot for the opinion of the people he knows, and is 
merely quietly amused at their remarks. It is all business, 
and sooner or later he will succeed. There are various 
brands of courage, Ryan, but you can take it from me 
that financial courage is not the least of them. You and 
I are plodders, my dear chap, and we are troubled with 
consciences. The Jew puts the creature comforts of his 
wife and children before his personal honour, and who 
shall say that he is wrong? ” 

Ryan was only partly convinced. 


— and Counterplot 235 

“But they do make money,” he maintained; “and so 
long as they make money, nobody says anything about 
how they did it.” 

“Which is undoubtedly one of Feinbaum’s remarks. 
Also it is very true. The motto of Johannesburg is 
‘ Non oletf^ which is a very good motto in its way, but 
a bit demoralising when it is adopted by a community 
as a whole. The main point is that you most certainly 
would not make money. It has been said that there are 
more brains to the square inch in Johannesburg than 
anywhere else in the world, and, financially speaking, I 
thoroughly believe this. You and I, Ryan, are absolute 
babies compared with many of the quite unimportant 
people here. But what has Feinbaum been suggesting 
in particular?” 

“Well, he says that if I find a man who wants to borrow 
money, and take him to another man who has money to 
lend, I get two-and-a-half per cent., which is £^2 105. od. 
for every hundred pounds borrowed.” 

Lensford laughed heartily. 

“My dear chap,” he said, “doesn’t it occur to you that 
if it was as easy as all that we should all be doing it? 
Look here, Ryan, I’m not much of a financier man myself, 
but at least I think I know more about money matters 
than you do. Promise me you won’t sign your name to 
any document — any document, mark you — without first 
consulting me.” 

“Of course I’ll promise,” Ryan replied gratefully. “I 
know I don’t understand much about it, and I was going 
to ask you if you’d help me.” 

“Then wfe may take that as settled. Nothing matters 
much so long as it isn’t in writing. And now tell me how 
you are getting on generally.” 

They chatted pleasantly enough till it was time to close 
the store, and though Ryan affected to be perfectly satis- 
fied with his life and prospects, the wistful undertone was 
always in his voice, and the question in his eyes. Lensford 
had come to know that expression well during the last 
few weeks, and it worried him. 

It was half-past five when they left the store, and already 
dark. Outside Lensford ’s car was still waiting, with the 
headlights riving the gloom of the ill-lit street for a con- 


The Debt 


236 

siderable distance. The chauffeur proceeded to start the 
engine, whistling to himself cheerfully as he did so. He 
knew that there was always a tip for him if he worked 
after five o’clock, and Lensford had large ideas on the 
subject of gratuities. 

“Well, good-night, my dear chap,” Lensford said to 
Ryan, as he entered the car. “Glad to hear you’re satis- 
fied with town life, and don’t hanker for the veld too 
often. Yes — ^you’re bound to feel a bit suffocated occa- 
sionally, but the idea of life with Miss Maggie is^ a very 
certain cure, eh? Don’t forget to let me know if there 
is anything I can do.” 

The car started smoothly, and he told the driver to 
return to Enfield Lodge. It was a chilly night, and he 
buttoned his coat right up to his chin and sat back with 
a little shiver. 

“I don’t like it — don’t like it at all,” he muttered. 
“Now I come to think of it, he has told me absolutely 
nothing. And I wish I didn’t feel so confoundedly queer 
these days. If anything happened to me it would be a 
particularly poor outlook for Ryan, though, luckily, he 
doesn’t know it.” 

He stood for a few moments outside the front door at 
Enfield Lodge, for he felt unaccountably dizzy. Of late 
he had often had attacks like that, and he knew perfectly 
well that his heart was not as it should be. 

But there was no sign of any distress in his manner 
when he was finally ushered into the drawing-room. Mrs. 
Mason was standing by the fire waiting for him. Her 
face was flushed with excitement, and her eyes blazed 
like live coals. 

“Well?” he asked, as he walked across to her. 

“Oh — that man!” she exclaimed. “Don’t ask me 
about it, Frank, but I think I should love to see him 
dying by inches. I have had a long talk with poor little 
Frances — ^you can’t imagine what she has gone through ! 
And because she, like the others, shrank from saying any- 
thing, he has been presuming more and more, and — but 
at least I’ll stop that. I am writing to her stepmother 
to-night asking if Frances may come and live here. I am 
getting old, and I really want somebody to read to me 
and wait on me, and keep me from thinking too much. An 


— and Counterplot 237 

old woman would be insufferable, but Frances really likes 
me, I think, and it will be delightful for me to have her. 
I shall pay her a salary, so I don’t think any objections will 
be raised. But enough of that. We must act, and act at 
once, Frank, or he will come between Maggie and Mr. 
Ryan. Even Frances doesn’t know just what is happening, 
but she is sure that for some reason Feinbaum is doing 
everything in his power to cause friction between them, and 
she thinks that Ethel is helping him. She hated saying 
that, but I dragged it from her. It is all little things — 
petty annoyances ; but already there are signs that Maggie 
is becoming a little querulous and impatient, and Mr. 
Ryan is such a particularly lethargic person himself that 
impatience is the one thing he will be incapable of under- 
standing. It would be dreadful if anything happened, for 
she is really quite a sweet girl, and I am sure they love 
each other.” 

“They did,” Lensford replied gravely, “but I am begin- 
ning to wonder if they do. Ryan is worrying altogether 
too much about getting money, and that kills love quicker 
than anything. But what can we do? ” 

She sat down in the big, comfortable chair by the fire, 
and he stood beside her. The flickering firelight — for 
the electric light had not been turned on — shone fitfully 
on the lined, parchment-like face of the old lady, and 
reflected redly in her strangely youthful eyes. Lensford 
caught himself wondering what she must have looked 
like some fifty years before, for time had been powerless 
to efface altogether the marks of quite exceptional beauty. 

“Tell me,” she commanded. “Some time ago you said 
you had some knowledge about Feinbaum which, if 
properly followed up, might have serious consequences 
for him.” 

Lensford felt in his breast pocket and produced a little 
note-book. He turned the pages quickly, and finally tore 
one out. 

“There are five names there,” he said quietly. “They 
are girls’ names, and perhaps if they would speak. ...” 

She eagerly took the paper from him. 

“They shall speak,” she answered, with decision. 
“Frances and I will see to that.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE CUNNING OF ETHEL 

Mrs. Harris made no difficulty whatever about Frances 
going to Enfield Lodge. On the contrary, she was 
delighted at the prospect thus opened to her stepdaughter, 
and privately considered that the latter had played her 
cards exceedingly well. Mrs. Harris had always thought 
that Frances was much more clever than her own 
daughters, and now she was entirely convinced of it. 

“Better go on Saturday,” she said, “so as to have a 
chance of getting a few things together. This is Wed- 
nesday, so it doesn’t give us much time. However, I’m 
really glad you are to have such a good start, Frances, 
and I’ll help you to run up a nice dress for the evening, 
and one or two simple frocks for working. Not too 
simple, so as to be servanty. She must be very old, and 
if only you are always patient and polite with her, she 
may leave you all her money. And she must be very 
well off too ” 

“Don't/’ Frances exclaimed. 

“Why not? If you don’t look after yourself, miss, 
you can be sure nobody else will. I don’t mean that you 
ought to poison her. We’ve all got to die some time or 
other, and if we’ve got money, we shall have to leave it 
behind. And there are lots of nice young men who visit 
her, too. You’ll be introduced to them, and I don’t doubt 
you’ll be able to get one of them. You’re quite a pretty 
girl, Frances, and most men are fools. Not that I mean 
to say anything nasty about you. The man who gets 
you, my dear, so long as he doesn’t want his own way 
too much, will have a very good wife indeed.” 

“Thank you,” Frances replied, with a little laugh. 

“I mean it,” Mrs. Harris went on. “Sometimes we 
may not have got on too well together, Frances, but 
that’s because we’re both high-spirited, and you have 

238 


The Cunning of Ethel 239 

such wrong ideas on most subjects. But you’re a good 
girl, and I don’t believe you ever tell me lies intentionally.” 

She almost sighed as she said this, and Frances felt 
a little twinge of remorse. That sternly repressed sigh 
told her as plainly as possible that her stepmother under- 
stood Ethel better than she sometimes pretended, and it 
must have been galling to have to compare her favourite 
daughter unfavourably with another woman’s child. 

Maggie was frankly horrified when she heard the news 
of Frances’s imminent departure. The time when she 
feared nothing because of Ryan’s love had passed, and 
she dreaded being left to Ethel’s tender mercies. 

“Must you go, Frances?” she asked, with rather 
characteristic selfishness. “ It has been so lovely to feel 
that you were always there to help me, and I don’t know 
whatever I shall do without you.” 

“I shall be quite near,” Frances replied cheerily. 
“Any time you want me you know I shall be only too 
glad to come to the rescue. There is a telephone at the 
house, so if it is urgent you can ring me up. And I 
may be much more useful now, because stepmother will 
think so much more of me since I am earning my own 
living. I shall buy her a little present with the first money 
I earn, and she will be so struck that she won’t be able 
to refuse me anything.” 

“But I like to have you here,” Maggie said wistfully. 
“I’m such a weak sort of person, Francie, and I feel 
afraid of myself when you are away. I really have been 
ever so much better since you came back from England, 
but before that it was so dreadfully hard. Why do people 
expect you to be beastly, and laugh at you if you aren’t? ” 

“They don’t,” Frances answered. “It’s only people 
who are beastly themselves who would laugh at you for 
being nice, and it is a compliment if they laugh at you.” 

“It’s easy enough for you,” Maggie went on, “because 
you are so very proud and clever. But I hate being 
laughed at. Even at school it was the same. Of course 
you were never at school in Johannesburg, so you don’t 
know. But lots of the girls used to say beastly things, 
just to see me go all red; and then they’d laugh at me, 
and say I was soft. I hate people to think I’m soft.” 

“But you’re not a bit ‘ soft,’ as you term it ” 


The Debt 


240 

“ Yes I am. Ethel is always telling me so. She will 
talk about the nasty things you read in the papers, and 
the way lots of the women here go on ; and when I tell 
her there is no need to talk about such things, she laughs 
at me. And even mother says that since we know such 
things happen, she can’t see any harm in talking about 
them. When you’re there I don’t mind a bit; but when 
you are away it seems so much easier to join in if they’re 
talking about these things. Why is it so much easier 
to be indecent than it is to be decent? ” 

“ It isn’t ” 

“ Yes it is. Here, at any rate. It only causes trouble 
if I say anything, or won’t join in the conversation, or go 
out of the room. And when Mr. Edwards makes those 
silly jokes, I get into a row if I try to snub him. Mother 
says I’m a prig, and Ethel says I ought to be in a convent. 
And at least you ought to know what I mean, for Mr. 
Feinbaum worries you as much as he does me, and you 
are always getting into trouble for being rude to him.” 

Which was no more than the truth. Frances felt that 
she could in some part understand Maggie’s feelings, for 
it would have saved so much trouble if she could have 
brought herself to be polite to Feinbaum. But whereas 
she had sufficient strength of character to support her in 
any difficulties which arose out of her determination to 
maintain her self-respect, Maggie most certainly had not. 

‘‘Has he been worrying you again? ” she asked. 

Feinbaum had been more than usually troublesome to 
her of late, and his calculated rudeness and veiled insinua- 
tions had nearly driven her frantic. He was always 
laughingly suggesting that she should come out with 
him, and Mrs. Harris thought this was merely a little 
pleasantry on his part, due to Frances’s apparent rudeness 
to him. She wondered that he condescended to take any 
notice of her. Once he had asked her if she would care to 
be shown over the stores on a Saturday afternoon, and 
had laughed at the blazing anger in her eyes. At other 
times he would try to get her by herself, and would terrify 
her by threatening to tell that she had come to him that 
afternoon. It would have sounded so different if the 
story were told all this time afterwards, and — the little 
storeman would not be there to give his version. And 


The Cunning of Ethel 241 

because he came to the house as a friend of the family, 
she could not entirely ignore him without giving some 
specific reason, and he knew it. He would shake hands 
with her, and hold her hand while he made some appar- 
ently innocent remark. He would offer to give her a lift 
into town in his car, if she chanced to be going out when 
he called; and her uncompromising refusal always caused 
subsequent trouble with her stepmother. As Maggie 
said, it was so very much easier to be indecent than to 
be decent. 

“He’s always worrying me,” Maggie replied miserably. 
“Lately he’s been worse than ever, and he tells mother 
that he may be able to do such a lot for Harry one of 
these days. That makes mother row me if I don’t bow 
down to him. And Ethel says I might be a little more 
considerate, since she is practically engaged to him. Then 
Harry tells me that he is not the sort of man a girl ought 
to know, though he may not be so bad otherwise; so 
altogether I don’t know what to do. Harry doesn’t even 
like him talking to me in the office, and yet when I 
suggested I might as well leave, as we were going to get 
married before very long, he said it would be madness. 
It’s because he is such a thoughtful old dear really. He 
thinks that if anything went wrong, and he’d made me 
leave, he would have caused me to throw up my billet 
for nothing. Just as if I care about Strauss and Van 
der Bloom now ! But I do care about Mr. Feinbaum, 
and I’m scared to death of him. He doesn’t say so much 
now, but it’s the way he looks at me.” 

Frances thoroughly appreciated the difficulties of the 
position. Feinbaum was a man to be reckoned with, and 
he had such a hold over the family that it was practically 
impossible to snub him. Mrs. Harris regarded him as 
the eventual husband of Ethel; he was Maggie’s direct 
principal in the office; he held Ryan’s fate in his hands. 
They firmly believed all this, though as a matter of fact 
they were wrong in every particular. Feinbaum had not 
the least intention of ever marrying Ethel, and though he 
liked to pose as having supreme authority as regarded 
Maggie and Ryan and their billets, he would not have 
dared to take any drastic steps because he knew perfectly 
well that Lensford was watching him. Lensford was of 
R 


The Debt 


242 

much greater importance than he was, and if it came to 
Lensford’s word against his, he knew that no amount of 
bluff and bluster would carry weight with that seemingly 
simple and undoubtedly kind-hearted old gentleman, who 
was the head of the firm. And how much did Lensford 
really know? There were times when Feinbaum would 
willingly have given every penny he possessed to have 
that question answered. 

“ Fm awfully sorry, Maggie,” Frances said soberly, 
“but I suppose the only thing you can do is to grin and 
bear it. After all, it can’t be so very long now before 
Harry marries you, and then you won’t have anything 
to fear from anybody.” 

“ I wish he would say when he would like to be 
married,” Maggie replied. “At first he quite agreed when 
mother said that she didn’t believe in long engagements, 
but now he won’t say a word. Last week mother said 
something about December being a lucky month, and he 
said that he didn’t think he would have enough money 
till December next year. I can’t understand it, because 
his father has a large farm, and I’m sure he could borrow 
some money if he liked. I should love to get married 
this year, but if he doesn’t want to I’m not going to 
make myself a nuisance.” 

“Perhaps there are circumstances of which we know 
nothing,” Frances suggested. 

“Very likely. But that doesn’t make it any easier. 
He told me once that it was really only quite a small 
farm that his father had, but of course that was only his 
way of speaking. He is such a modest old darling. Only 
I wish everything wasn’t so difficult.” 

Which was natural enough. Feinbaum and Ethel had 
waged their campaign very cleverly during the past two 
months, and poor, weak little Maggie was harassed till 
her usually gentle nature was in a continual state of half- 
hearted rebellion. Ethel, in her sweetest manner, would 
beg her to be nice to Feinbaum because of her hopes in 
that direction, and when Maggie really tried to forget 
her own prejudices, Ryan would seriously take her to 
task for being friendly with a man who had been so rude 
to her. Maggie had told him just enough about Feinbaum 
to justify this attitude; and now she would have given 


The Cunning of Ethel 243 

anything to have either told him everything or nothing 
— but it was too late. Then again Ethel would say that 
her friends were asking why Ryan didn’t take her to 
various entertainments, and Maggie’s easily influenced 
nature took the hint at once. She would stoutly maintain 
that Ryan was quite right to try and save money, but she 
would feel the sting none the less. Afterwards Ethel 
would take Ryan aside, and tell him how Maggie was 
simply dying to see the play at the theatre, buf he mustn’t 
breathe a word about it ; and in the end Ryan would take 
her, and though her evident delight was more than suffi- 
cient reward, these little expeditions meant that he could 
not save anything, and he was beginning to worry more 
than was good for him about money matters. 

In a petty, underhand way, Ethel was undoubtedly 
clever, and once she had started on her campaign, she 
managed to derive quite a lot of enjoyment out of it. 
She would bounce quickly into the little sitting-room 
when she knew Ryan was alone with Maggie, and would 
be immediately covered with a very obvious confusion. 
Sometimes she would stay with them for quite a long 
time, in order that the confusion might pass away ; at 
other times she would shake a forefinger at Ryan, and tell 
him not to mind her. Or she would make playful little 
remarks about their liking for each other’s society, and 
jokingly tell them that all couples were like that at first. 
It was all paltry, and utterly insignificant, but she knew 
that love can never stand ridicule, and that a man with 
Ryan’s nature would feel it particularly keenly. He was 
so essentially a man, so naturally quiet and reserved, 
that when he had unbent in the sweet society of his lady 
it was maddening to be interrupted, and to be told, even 
in the most playful manner, that he was behaving 
foolishly. 

And there had been the matter of Maggie’s billet. 
Ethel had told her that she most certainly ought to resign, 
and her mother had agreed. Ethel had added that as she 
didn’t like Feinbaum, it would be the best way of avoid- 
ing having anything to do with him. Yet when M^gie 
had suggested the step to Ryan, he had uncompromisingly 
negatived it. He could hardly give her his reasons, for 
it would have meant humbling himself before her, and 


R 2 


The Debt 


244 

telling her of his earlier escapades in Johannesburg. He 
loved her too well to care to run the risk of lowering 
himself in her esteem. It was a curious view to take, 
though quite characteristic of him. But to Maggie it had 
seemed that he wanted her to make as much money as 
possible. She couldn’t help feeling that he was perhaps 
a little mean — she noticed afterwards how rarely he 
seemed really to want to take her anywhere — and she 
hated meanness. In Johannesburg there is one class of 
amusement for all classes of income, and she was like the 
rest of her sex in that she could not understand why she 
should not be taken everywhere if other girls were so 
treated. She really meant to do everything in her power 
to help Ryan, but surely a few pounds a month could not 
make much difference. 

And meanwhile Ryan was passing through his own 
little hell without confiding in a soul. He was a man of 
the wilds, and what he loved better than anything else 
was to get out of town on Sunday, and wander away from 
the beaten tracks. But Maggie hated rough roads and 
long grass, and was frankly terrified at the thought of 
possible snakes, and spiders, and other things which were 
to him quite insignificant. Ethel had noticed this at once, 
and on every possible occasion led the conversation round 
to the subject of living away from town, and skilfully 
induced Maggie to express her horror of farms, and life 
in the country, and everything that wasn’t essentially of 
the town. Ryan never said anything, but he began to 
wonder dimly if after all he hadn’t made a mistake. He 
could not see the attraction of wandering up and down 
Pritchard Street on Saturday afternoons, jostled by crowds 
of people who were similarly occupied, and with no definite 
purpose in view. To him the pure breath of the veld 
was infinitely more attractive, and he hated crowds. 

When he talked to Maggie of the long treks through 
the less populated parts of the Colony, and the little speck 
of fire burning cheerily at night in the midst of those vast 
solitudes, and the exciting moments when a river came 
down in flood, she would press his arm fondly, and say 
how glad he must be that it was all over now. In time 
he ceased to talk to her of that phase of his life, and 
confined his conversation to the present and the future. 


The Cunning of Ethel 245 

She was incapable of understanding the charm of a life 
such as he had led, and could not realise that the very 
hardships and dangers made it all the more attractive. 

It was on the Saturday of Frances’s departure that 
Ethel played a master stroke. It was entirely her own 
idea, and she was very proud of it. At lunch there had 
been a little difference between Maggie and Ryan, because 
she had wanted to go to the theatre in order to see a 
famous dancer who was appearing for a few performances 
only, and he had suggested that it was a perfect afternoon 
for a long walk. Mrs. Harris had spoken quite sharply 
to Maggie, and told her that it would do her far more good 
to get a little fresh air ; for the good lady was a firm 
believer in the rule of humouring the male creature — 
before marriage ! Maggie had had a trying morning in 
the office, and for the first time since she had been 
engaged, she sulked. Ryan did not know what to make 
of it, for the whole incident seemed to him too utterly 
trivial; but it brought home to him with something of a 
shock the possibilities of married life when he would be 
unable to afford even an occasional theatre. 

After lunch, Ethel called Maggie into the drawing- 
room, and sympathised with her. At the same time she 
was too wise to rail at Ryan. 

“Haven’t you noticed that he seems to have something 
on his mirid lately? ” she asked. 

“He isn’t so nice as he used to be,” Maggie confessed, 
and hated herself immediately. 

“No, he’s worried — poor old Harry. I’m afraid the 
Iffe in town is telling on him.” 

“What do you mean?” Maggie demanded appre- 
hensively. 

“Oh, not his health, dear. But these men who have 
been brought up in the veld, and among snakes and wild 
animals, are always a little peculiar. They can^ never 
settle in a town, and after a time they begin to pine for 
the wilds, and they may even die of a broken heart. Can’t 
you imagine what you would feel like if you were dropped 
in the middle of the country? For a little while you 
would be quite interested, but if you found out that you 
would have to stay there all your life, miles and miles 
away from anybody, it would be awful, wouldn’t it?” 


The Debt 


246 

“Yes,” Magfgie assented in a whisper. 

“It’s the same with him, only the other way round 
Hasn’t he ever talked to you about how he used to roam 
all over the country?” 

“Yes — but not lately.” 

“Ah! That’s because he daren’t trust himself to talk 
about it now that he knows he will never see it again. 
Once he’s married, that life will be closed for ever to him. 
Poor old Harry ; of course when he proposed to you he 
thought it would be easy to give up the old life, but he 
hadn’t been in town very long then. I’ve noticed how 
very quiet and sad he’s seemed lately, and so has 
mother.” 

“But . . . don’t you think he loves me any more?” 

“ Yes — in a way. I believe he thinks more of you than 

of any other girl, but not enough to be happy at the 

thought of always living here. He knows how you hate 

the country, for you’ve often said so; and he can’t bear 
the thought of cutting himself adrift from it for ever. 
That’s why he won’t fix a day. It’s a great pity, Maggie, 
but I’m sure that is what’s the matter. Of course it 
doesn’t matter so far as you are concerned. He’s not 
the sort to run away, and he’ll marry you safe enough.” 

Maggie sat on the shabby little sofa, looking straight 
in front of her in a way that rather frightened Ethel. 

“Of course I may be wrong,” Ethel went on hurriedly, 
for her conscience suddenly misgave her. 

“No — you’re right this time,” Maggie answered dully. 
“ It’s all as plain as possible now, and — and, oh ! what 
a little, selfish fool I’ve been. I was so happy myself, 
that it never struck me to think of him. I’ve always felt 
that he was miles too good for me, but I never realised 
till now just what it must all mean to him. He used to 
talk to me, and I only laughed, or told him I should 
simply hate going anywhere in an ox-wagon. And all 
the time he’s been eating his heart out, and I was too 
selfish to notice. What a little fool I’ve been — what a 
selfish little fool.” 

She began to sob quietly — pitifully. Ethel, really 
frightened now, knelt beside her, and put her arms round 
her. 

“It’s nothing, dear,” she said. “I just made it all up 


The Cunning of Ethel 247 

— really I did. Don’t cry like that — it makes me feel 
so mean. There’s not a word of truth in it.” 

“Yes there is. I don’t know why you’re so kind to 
me to-day, Ethel, but you can’t alter it. I was utterly 
mad to think I could ever make a suitable wife for him.” 

She buried her head in the cushion on the sofa, and 
sobbed as if her heart would break. Ethel strove to com- 
fort her, really tried by every means in her power to undo 
the harm she had done, but all the time she knew that it 
was quite useless. Only then did she realise the truth of 
the words she had said, and it was because of their possible 
accuracy that she was afraid. She was not accustomed 
to playing with the truth, and did not know its dangers. 

For more than half-an-hour she talked to Maggie, but 
the latter was quite deaf to her arguments. Her eyes 
had been opened, and however weak she might be in 
many things, she was at least strong in her love. She 
would show Harry that she cared for his happiness even 
more than her own life, if necessary, and would make him 
accept his freedom. Of course he would refuse, because 
he was so honest and high-minded, and because she felt 
sure he liked her a little. But she would make him break 
the engagement, even if she had to lie to him as to the 
reason. At all costs he must be able to return to the 
life he loved, even though she had to trample her own love 
and self-respect underfoot to make him. She felt a delici- 
ous sense of peace in the midst of her agony at the thought 
of his delight on leaving Johannesburg, and she held the 
sacrifice of her own dream of happiness as nothing com- 
pared with his welfare. 

She sat up after passing through the valley of bitterness, 
and dried her eyes. 

“Go and find Harry,” she commanded, “and ask him to 
come to me.” 

“But ” Ethel began. 

“Please go. If you don’t, I shall.” 

And with a very unaccustomed feeling of contempt for 
herself, Ethel left the room. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


TRAGEDY 

Ethel had made her allegations against Ryan entirely 
without thought as to their possible accuracy. She knew 
it would hurt Maggie to feel that Ryan still loved the wilds 
which she herself frankly hated, and that even with her 
he still longed at times for the untrammelled life of the 
veld. For the rest, Maggie would probably reproach him, 
and there would be a quarrel. Further than that Ethel’s 
plottings did not take her. She had already been success- 
ful in sowing discord between them in minor matters, 
and this was only to be a continuance of the series. 
Eventually, perhaps, they would become tired of each 
other, and the engagement would be broken off. It was 
really very simple, and quite amusing ; and Rudolf would 
undoubtedly keep his word about that dance at the 
Carlton. 

But her words had opened Maggie’s eyes to many things 
which she had hitherto been unable to understand, and for 
the first time she knew that Ryan’s love for nature would 
always come before his love for her. He might not even 
realise it himself ; he might think that he loved her well 
enough to put the veld, and all it meant to him, aside. 
Even when the first horror of it gripped and tore her, it 
never occurred to her to doubt that he really did love her. 
It was this very fact that made her all the more deter- 
mined to accept what she felt would be a sacrifice from 
him, for it is a precious privilege to suffer for those we 
love. And she knew how she would suffer. It had all 
been so wonderful — so beautifully perfect — that she had 
never paused to analyse her feelings, or to ask herself 
whether they were suited to each other. It was more 
than sufficient that she loved him, and he loved her. But 
now she knew that they were as far apart as the poles. 
She could never follow him to the life he loved, so why 

248 


Tragedy 249 

should she expect him to follow her to the existence he 
hated? Her mind was suddenly quite clear to weigh the 
matter, and in the balance she deemed herself wanting. 
She could never be enough to him to atone for the life 
he had put behind him. 

And in a way she was right. Ryan could not under- 
stand the little, insignificant troubles that were so skilfully 
engineered by Ethel; and Maggie’s occasional bursts of 
petulance were incomprehensible to him. If they really 
loved, there should be no room for such things ; and 
he began to doubt. First he doubted her, for it did not 
occur to him that the very fact of his refusing to notice 
her little outbursts could hurt her. She would have liked 
to be scolded, or petted, or to see him cast down when 
she said anything unkind to him. Afterwards they could 
have the most delightful reconciliations, and would love 
each other more than ever. But Ryan . . . humoured 
her ! It was humiliating. He utterly refused to take 
offence, but in his large, stolid manner, began to talk of 
something else. And Maggie, goaded by his seeming 
indifference, often said things which she would have given 
worlds to unsay had he but given her a chance. 

And afterwards Ryan had come to doubt himself. Had 
it been for ten years, or even twenty or thirty, marriage 
would have seemed to him altogether delightful; but it 
was for ever. For ever ! He was to cut himself adrift 
from the life he had loved ever since he could remember, 
nor for ten or twenty years, but for ever. The words 
burned into his brain, and haunted him day and night. 
Sometimes, after the rest of the family had retired, he 
would steal from the house, and make his way to those 
still unbuilt-on kopjes at the back of Doornfontein, where 
the twinkling lights of the town lay spread below him 
like a fairy garden. And there he would lie on the cool, 
dusty earth, looking and looking into the heart of the 
night till his eyes ached, and ever those words were ring- 
ing in his head. “ For ever — for ever ! ” they kept ham- 
mering on his brain, and he thought of the long, lazy 
treks with his dear old father, and the twinkling fire at 
night, and that last, peaceful pipe smoked just before 
turning in ; while the frogs bubbled away merrily in the 
vlei near by, and the strident note of the crickets sounded 


The Debt 


250 

all round them, and the air was sweet and heavy with 
the scent of the rain-soaked earth. If only he could get 
away for a month or so every year, or know that after a 
time he would be able to return to the veld ; but it was to 
be for ever — for ever. 

Sometimes the first streaks of dawn would be showing 
in the east as he crept into the stuffy house again, and 
there would be a dull pain at his heart which he did not 
attempt to understand. It would not have been so bad 
if he had enough money to make a good start, and to keep 
Maggie as he longed to keep her ; but as it was he could 
only see an endless vista of years of struggle, and Maggie 
working all day, and growing old before her time, and 
. . . saying nasty, barbed things in her misery. For 
though Ryan gave no sign at the time, those remarks had 
hurt him. 

But when he saw her his doubts were swept aside. She 
was so delightfully fresh and dainty that it was a miracle 
she should care for one so uncouth as he was. What 
more could a man desire than to work for her all his life, 
and hear her words of encouragement and love, and crush 
her to him in a glorious frenzy of passion? At first her 
presence had been sufficient to dispel his doubts for hours 
at a time, but lately they would return while her kisses 
were still warm on his mouth ; and those dread words of 
ill-omen — “For ever!” — had begun to haunt him even 
when she was actually talking to him, and his arms were 
round her. 

Ethel found him that afternoon sitting disconsolately on 
the back stoep. He was smoking his big calabash pipe, 
and looking fixedly into a past filled with wagons, and 
oxen, and vast spaces. 

“Maggie wants you,” she said nervously. “She’s in 
the drawing-room, and — and I don’t know what’s the 
matter with her.” 

Ryan walked quickly into the house, and turned the 
handle of the door. He entered the room without mani- 
festing the least sign of the perturbation caused by Ethel’s 
words. 

“I didn’t like to come while she was with you,” he 

said humbly. “You know we don’t ” 

He broke off abruptly as he saw Maggie’s face. She 


Tragedy 251 

was sitting on the shabby little sofa, and the light from 
the window fell pitilessly on her, accentuating her ghastly 
pallor, and showing all too plainly that she had been 
crying bitterly. 

“Maggie dear — what is it? ” he said, and without more 
ado crossed the room, and took her in his arms. 

She stayed there passively for a few moments, conscious 
that it was the last time she would feel those loved arms 
round her, and that for her the tale was told — the end 
was written. Outside, a Kaffir was coaxing a maddening 
repetition of the same three notes from a mouth organ, 
over and over again; and to the end of her life she could 
never forget that monotonous, tuneless dirge. It was the 
requiem of her brief dream of happiness, but she no longer 
felt any inclination to give way to tears. A dull, heavy 
ache had succeeded to the first cruel pain of her grief, and 
she felt a curiously impersonal interest in the forthcoming 
interview. It was as though she was some disinterested 
third party, and the real Maggie was a tremendous 
distance away, vainly begging that she too might be heard, 
and that the sweet dream of the past few months should 
not be ruthlessly shattered. 

She freed herself gently, and he stood looking at her, 
with an expression of patient entreaty in his eyes. 

“What is it, dear? ” he said again. 

“Sit down — there, on that chair,” she commanded. “I 
want to have a talk with you, Harry, and — and it’s going 
to be very difficult. I’m afraid.” 

He sat down without a word, and she found his silence 
unusually disconcerting. 

“ It’s about . . . our engagement,” she said. 

“Yes? ” 

“Yes. Have you ever thought what it will mean to 
you? Once you are married you will never be able to go 
all over the country again.” 

“No,” he assented gravely. The words “For ever — 
for ever ” began to sing in his head again. 

“ It will mean living in Johannesburg all the time,” she 
went on, “for it will be a struggle to make ends meet 
for a long time. Not that I mind that — you don’t think 
I mind that, Harry?” 

“I know you don’t,” he answered simply. 


The Debt 


252 

“No, I really don’t. But one has to look ahead, and 
you are not earning so very much, are you? You see, 
you’ve been accustomed to living right out in the country, 
and sleeping in the open, and not caring how you. look, 
and it must be so hard for you to get used to town. Now 
I hate the country, and if I thought I should have to 
live there. I’m sure I should die.” 

“I don’t want you to live away from town, Maggie,” 
he said gently. “We have talked about that, and of 
course I am going to stay here.” 

She felt then that she would willingly have gone to 
the end of the earth with him, but her impersonal self 
told her that she would only have been a drag on him — 
she was so utterly unsuited for roughing it at all. 

“But don’t you sometimes think you will get tired of 
town? ” she asked. 

He tried to lie to her, but the words would not come. 

“Of course you do,” she continued miserably. She had 
been hoping against hope that he would deny it. “ It is 
the same as if I went to the country. I should like it very 
well at first, as a change, but afterwards it would kill me. 
Ethel said ” 

“Has she been interfering?” he demanded, and there 
was a light of comprehension in his eyes. 

“ No. At least, she said I was all wrong afterwards. 
She didn’t want me to say anything to you, but it all seems 
so clear to me now.” 

Still he did not understand her. 

“But what seems clear? ” he asked. 

“The folly of it all. We should never have become 
engaged, Harry, because we are utterly unsuited to each 
other.” 

He rose from his chair, and stood looking down at her. 
Her disinterested self noticed that one of the buttons on 
his waistcoat was loose, and longed to run and fetch a 
needle and thread. All the little details of that afternoon 
seemed to impress themselves on her memory. 

“Do you mean that? ” he said quietly. 

“Yes. Can’t you see, Harry, that it would be a mis- 
take? You would want to get back to the wilds ” 

He laughed shortly, and she loved him more than ever 
for it. 


Tragedy 253 

“I shouldn’t want to go away so long as you were here 
to keep me,” he said, and meant every word of it. 

“ But afterwards ” she persisted. 

“There would be no afterwards. Sometimes I have 
thought it would be hard to stay here, and I have gone 
on the kopjes at night, and thought and thought. But 
now I know it was all wrong, and that I shall stay here 
till I die.” 

In spite of himself there was a little wistfulness in his 
voice when he finished, and she was quick to notice it. 
He knew she loved him, and — yes ! — he loved her as well 
as such a man could love a very ordinary girl, and so he 
would say anything rather than give her pain. He loved 
her truly and honourably, but before all he loved the 
wilds, and would always yearn for them. Because of 
his love for her, he strove to crush that other love from 
his heart, but she knew he would never succeed. There 
remained to show that her love was the best of all, for she 
would willingly sacrifice her own happiness in order to 
give him back to nature. 

“You don’t seem to understand, Harry,” she said, and 
her voice seemed also to be detached from her now. 
“There are so many things in which we shan’t get on 
together. I want to go to town, and walk up and down 
the streets, and go to theatres and dances ” 

“I shall also want to do' these things,” he said. 

She made a helpless little gesture with her hands. He 
was making it so difficult, and she knew her composure 
would not last very much longer. 

“But we shan’t be able to afford them,” she went on. 
“You are only earning twenty-five pounds a month, and 
we should have to look at every penny in order to keep 
a house going on that amount.” 

At last he seemed to realise what she meant. 

“You mean it would be too much of a struggle?” he 
said. 

“Yes. At least, I shouldn’t mind the struggle with 
you, but — but if we never went anywhere, and still you 
couldn’t pay the bills; and then — and then perhaps . . . 
there might be a baby.” 

“I would save every penny,” he said earnestly. 

Undoubtedly that button on his waistcoat needed atten- 


The Debt 


254 

tion. It was the third one from the top, she noticed, and 
there was a little piece of black thread hanging from it. 

She pulled herself together with a start. If she went 
on like that, she would either faint or go mad ; and still 
he wouldn’t accept his liberty. She made a last effort. 

“I don’t want to give up everything,” she said, and 
her voice sounded curiously harsh. “ I am still very 
young, and have hardly been anywhere ; and if I marry 
you it will mean that I have nothing to look forward to 
but years and years of hard work.” 

At last he thought he understood, for all men are fools 
where women are concerned. 

“But you don’t go about much even now,” he said 
gravely. 

“No — that’s because I’m engaged to you. If it wasn’t 
for that, lots of men would want to take me out. Mr. 
Feinbaum is always asking me, as it is.” 

Poor little Maggie — she had roused him now at least, 
though to do so she had had to trample her self-respect 
in the mud. 

“Mr. Feinbaum?” he echoed. “But — but you know 
what sort of man he is.” 

“ He is no worse than lots of others. I can take care 
of myself, and it would be nice to go to a really good 
dance sometimes.” 

He was looking at her with a very stern expression on 
his face, for, being as he was, he could never pardon 
anything he deemed dishonourable in a woman. In a 
man, yes; but women were so very much higher in his 
opinion. It is only the town-bred man who judges women 
by the few he has met. 

“Do you want to go out with Mr. Feinbaum?” he 
asked. 

She met his gaze without flinching. 

“Yes.” 

He drew a deep breath. 

“You know what that will mean? ” he said. “I know 
the kind of man he is, and so do you. I could never let 
the girl who is going to be my wife go about with him. 
Maggie, you don’t mean it? You can’t mean it! ” 

She laughed — a strained, grating laugh. To think that 
he could possibly believe it of her ! 


Tragedy 255 

“But I do mean it,” she said. 

He stood looking at her as though at the eleventh hour 
he would see through her pitiful subterfuge — would really 
understand. Outside, the Kaffir still kept up his monoton- 
ous dirge, and . . . yes ! — there was a little spot of 
grease just above that third button. She wondered who 
would sew the button on for him now. 

“Will you give me back the ring, please,” he said 
dully. 

She fumbled at the third finger of her left hand, and 
managed to draw off the diamond-studded circlet which 
had spelled heaven for her in the beginning, and now 
cast her down to the depths of hell. There was a sound 
as of rushing waters in her ears, and she could no longer 
see him clearly. But she knew that the sacrifice was 
complete, and that he would now return to the veld he 
loved. 

“You will go and live somewhere else? ” she whispered. 
“After this ... in the same house. ...” 

“ I shall leave this afternoon,” he said. 

She bowed her head so that he should not see the 
expression of agony in her eyes, and he walked slowly 
to the door. 

“You really mean it? ” he said again, and had she been 
looking at him it might even then have not been too late. 

She nodded her head. 

“Then good-bye — ^good-bye, Maggie dear, and . . . 
God bless you.” 

She heard the door open, and shut behind him, and 
then lost all control of herself. She tore wildly at the 
cushion on the sofa, and bit it in a vain attempt to ease 
the pain she was suffering. Once she rose, and almost 
ran after him to tell him that it was all wrong — that even 
if she was not good enough for him, she could not give 
him up ; but she thought of his solitary vigils on the 
kopjes, and with a tremendous effort threw herself down 
on the sofa again. 

“If only it wasn’t true,” she moaned again and again, 
but she knew that in this at least, Ethel had spoken the 
truth. She had realised it then, and had read confirma- 
tion in his eyes when he would not answer her that once. 

“If only it wasn’t true — but why did I ever meet him? ” 


The Debt 


256 

That was what she couldn’t understand. She was 
always trying so hard to live a clean life, and yet she had 
been selected to have this cruel unhappiness thrust upon 
her. She knew so many girls who were entirely unprin- 
cipled, and they never seemed unhappy. Poor little 
Maggie, she hardly understood that it was her very 
capacity for a true, pure love which had brought about 
her misery. Perhaps in after years she would find comfort 
in having really loved, even though she had lost, but for 
the time the hurt was too cruel, the wound too severe. 

And then for the first time she thought about her 
mother. Her other troubles were almost dwarfed for the 
moment by the fear which assailed her. Her mother had 
been so proud of the engagement, and was so terrible if 
anything occurred to upset her. Probably Harry would 
have gone straight to her, and she might come in at any 
moment. Maggie sat up, and hurriedly smoothed her 
hair. It was rather typical of her that her fears should 
claim her immediate attention, for she was so weak — 
so very weak — in most things. And they might say 
things at table — she could imagine Mr. Edwards remark- 
ing that many a fish had wriggled off the hook, or some- 
thing like that. If her mother was against her she would 
have to put up with it, for it would be deemed part of 
her punishment for quarrelling with such a nice, easy- 
going man as Mr. Ryan. Quarrelling ! 

The door opened suddenly, and Mrs. Harris literally 
exploded into the room. 

“What’s this Harry tells me?” she began. 

Maggie looked at her with wide, frightened eyes. Per- 
haps her ears would be boxed, and she didn’t think she 
could possibly stand that now. 

Mrs. Harris was shocked at the change in Maggie’s 
face, for though she herself was incapable of any intense 
mental suffering, she knew that others were not similarly 
gifted. Weakness, she called it, but admitted its 
existence. 

“What is it? ” she said again, more quietly. 

“I’m so sorry, mother,” Maggie answered timidly. 
“ Harry and I have broken it off. It was all my fault. 
Don’t be cross with me, mother — please don’t be cross, 
for I am so dreadfully unhappy.” 


Tragedy 257 

Mrs. Harris bestowed herself on the sofa beside Magg^ie. 

“And who’s going to be cross?” she demanded. 
“Mayn’t a daughter of mine break off her engagement 
if she likes? I’d like to hear anybody say anything about 
it ! He’s a good young man, Maggie, and I don’t think 
you’ll get a better. But when a woman gets to my 
age she can’t expect to understand just how young 
people look at these things. I’m not going to ask you 
about it, though I’m very sorry — sorry for both of 
you.” 

Maggie could hardly believe her ears. She had dreaded 
this interview almost more than the one with Ryan, and 
now her mother seemed actually sympathetic. The very 
relief served to break down the last little shred of her 
self-possession. 

“Then — then you’re not angry with me? ” she gasped. 

Possibly Mrs. Harris felt a little twinge of remorse when 
she saw the very real fear in Maggie’s eyes. 

“Angry? — of course I’m not, dearie,” she said. “There 
are lots of other young men, and you’re still quite a girl. 
Harry was a good lad, but very quiet; and he wasn’t 
likely to earn very much money. There, there, dearie ! 
Cry as much as you like, and you’ll feel all the better for 
it. We can’t hope to understand everything, and it makes 
me feel like crying myself to see you so upset. No man’s 
worth crying for, Maggie, but it will do you good. Poor 
little girl ! And — and don’t you dare to ever be afraid 
of your mother again.” 

Feinbaum happened to call at Edendale that afternoon, 
and encountered Ethel on the stoep. Ethel had a habit of 
sitting there, because by so doing she always managed 
to secure a first claim on any callers. It was really 
thoughtfulness on her part, for she was firmly convinced 
that no visitor could do better than talk to her, and that 
his time would be wasted on any other member of the 
household. 

Now that the first feeling of trepidation had subsided, 
she felt a sense of almost fearful admiration for her own 
cleverness. The engagement was actually broken off, and 
Ryan had left the house. Nobody suspected her of really 
being at the bottom of the trouble — not even Maggie, 

s 


The Debt 


258 

who had gone to her room to cry herself into a sleep 
of sheer exhaustion. She had succeeded beyond her 
wildest expectations, and — she had certainly earned that 
dance at the Carlton ! 

Feinbaum was immensely amused when he heard the 
news. It meant that the first move in the game was his, 
and he had no doubt that Ryan would be very easy to 
handle in his present unhappy condition. Already he had 
one or two distinctly promising little plans on hand, and 
he had no doubt that the second move would be even 
more successful than the first. 

“If I’d done anything like that to my sister,” he said, 
“I think I should feel pretty mean.” 

Ethel did not like this view of the case. 

“But she had been rude to you, Rudolf,” she protested 
virtuously. “And you know you told me ” 

“Oh, I was only joking. I’d no idea you could be such 
an utter beast. Now don’t sulk! If it isn’t beastly to 
work underhand against your own sister, I should like 
to know what is. It would have been dashed funny to 
set them on to snarl at each other, but I shouldn’t have 
gone further than that.” 

Ethel was not sufficiently intelligent to grasp the fact 
that Feinbaum was only covering his own tracks in his 
customary fashion, and she was horribly afraid lest she 
might have fallen in his estimation. 

“I didn’t really mean it,” she explained volubly. “I 
just mentioned one or two things to Maggie, and as soon 
as I saw she took me seriously, I told her not to be silly 
— I did really ! Of course it was all a joke on my part, 
and I would have given anything to stop the trouble, only 
it was too late. I hope you don’t think I would do any- 
thing against Maggie really. She is quite a nice little 
thing — especially when Frances is away — and I am really 
fond of her.” 

“And where is Frances, by the way? ” Feinbaum asked, 
without troubling to notice the laboured explanation. 

“Haven’t you heard? She has gone as companion to 
a Mrs. Mason, in Parktown. I can’t think what mother 
was about to let her, for though she’s only our stepsister, 
it is not nice for us to feel that she is little better than a 
servant.” 


Tragedy 259 

But Feinbaum was not listening. He knew that Mrs. 
Mason had been at the bottom of the very dangerous 
inquiry which had been engineered when Harris dis- 
appeared, and once more he was afraid. What connec- 
tion was there between the various incidents, and how did 
it happen that Frances, of all people in the world, had 
gone to the one house where she could do the most harm 
if she talked? 

He pulled himself together, and laughed harshly. 

“Well, I suppose you’ll claim your reward — your blood 
money, hey? ” he said. “Didn’t I promise to take you to 
a big dance at the Carlton if you brought this off? ” 

“Yes. But you said just now that you didn’t really 
mean me to; and I wish you wouldn’t ” 

“Oh, don’t pretend ! You know perfectly well that you 
did it of set purpose, and you’re glad. I’m glad too, if 
you like. We’ll go and find the old lady, and smooth 
her down. There is a ball next Thursday.” 

They walked into the house together, and found Mrs. 
Harris in the dining-room, busily engaged on a dress — 
not too servanty ! — for Frances. She did not seem alto- 
gether pleased at the interruption. 

“How d’you do, Mrs. Harris,” Feinbaum said, in his 
breeziest manner. “ I want you to let Ethel come to the 
Tennis Club dance at the Carlton next Thursday.” 

Ethel smiled brightly, for she knew her mother’s weak- 
ness for public functions. But Mrs. Harris was quite 
unmoved. 

“She can’t go,” she said tersely. 

Feinbaum was astounded. He had expected to be over- 
whelmed with thanks. 

“Of course I want you to come too,” he went on, con- 
vinced that there must be a mistake somewhere. 

“Of course ! You don’t think I’d let you take her with- 
out me, do you ? ” Mrs. Harris replied grimly. “ But 
still she’s not going.” 

“Mother! How can you,” Ethel exclaimed. 

“And what’s the matter with you, miss? Do you think 
I’m going to let you gloat over Maggie? I know you! 
You’re not going, and there’s an end of it.” 

Ethel was thunderstruck. To be spoken to like that, 
and before Feinbaum too. 


26 o 


The Debt 


“I shall go,” she maintained, and her voice was almost 
as strident as that of her mother. 

Mrs. Harris put down her sewing. 

“Oh, you will, will you? ” she said. “Go to your room 
this minute, or I’ll box your ears for you.” 

Ethel stamped her foot. 

“I won't go,” she shouted. “I won't! ” 

Mrs. Harris rose to her feet with surprising agility for 
one of her years, and — Ethel fled incontinently. 

“That’s right — nothing like keeping ’em in order,” 
Feinbaum said, with a harsh laugh. 

“And who asked you for your opinion?” Mrs. Harris 
demanded. “There’s trouble in this house, Mr. Fein- 
baum, and I think it would be better for all of us if you 
stayed away for a bit. You can come back when you 
know how to behave.” 

And, with a very mystified expression on his face, 
Feinbaum walked down the steps, and into the street. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A NARROW ESCAPE 

Ryan moved his belongings to the little room which had 
formerly been occupied by Jenkins, and which had been 
vacant since the sudden departure of that discreet hero. 
It was a yard room, as the one at Edendale had been, but 
there the resemblance ceased. Mrs. Harris had strong 
ideas on the subject of cleanliness, and her house was 
always kept in a state of spotless neatness; Ryan’s new 
landlady left everything to her native servant, and the 
result was what might have been expected. True, she 
only charged los. per month for the room, which 
was the reason why Jenkins had remained there. The 
occupant was assured that his linen and towels would be 
changed once a week, which was not always the case, and 
for the rest he had nothing to do with the house. He had 
to take his meals at the nearest restaurant, and he was 
not expected to grumble if they sometimes forgot to make 
his bed or clean up the room. 

Not that Ryan was in a state to notice any little details 
like this. His mind was in a turmoil at the sudden rude 
awakening from his beautiful romance, and for many 
days he moved about mechanically, and had but the 
vaguest idea as to what was happening in his own world. 
At first he tried to make himself believe it was all for the 
best, and that the breaking of the engagement had released 
him from an obligation which had undoubtedly been weigh- 
ing him down. Indeed, it was perfectly clear to him that 
Maggie had spoken the truth — that he could never entirely 
crush his love for the life he had known so long, and to 
which he really belonged. But now he realised all she 
had meant to him, and without her as his sheet anchor 
his whole soul rose in revolt at the existence he was called 
upon to face. For there was still the matter of those 
debts, and till he had paid them off to the uttermost 

261 


262 


The Debt 


penny he was not going to run away from Johannesburg. 
Being a man, his outlook was necessarily selfish; and 
though he knew that he could never have been to Maggie 
all that she desired, and that the prospect of being tied 
to her and Johannesburg for ever had weighed upon him 
unbearably, he still knew that she was the one woman 
in the world for whom he could ever care, and that she, 
and she alone, had been able partially to reconcile him 
to the unnatural life he had been called upon to live for 
the past few months. He wanted her — hungered for her 
with all the strength of his untrammelled nature ; and yet 
he could not give up all thought of his other life. It was 
a matter beyond his control, and though he loved her so, 
he knew that Nature was waiting for him with open arms, 
and that Nature was stronger than Maggie. 

Strangely enough, it was Feinbaum who comforted him 
most in the dark days that followed. Ryan was not in a 
fit state to wonder as to why Feinbaum should go out of 
his way to befriend him, and though he held him to be 
principally responsible for the rupture with Maggie, he 
did not blame him. To him women were as God made 
them, and men were as women made them. It was quite 
natural that Feinbaum should like Maggie, if only as a 
friend ; but the development of that friendship rested with 
her. He knew that Feinbaum had a bad reputation, and 
if she still wanted to go about with him in spite of that, 
the man was not to be blamed. Of course he knew nothing 
whatever of the real relations between Feinbaum and the 
house of Harris. 

During the next week Feinbaum came to the store every 
day, and would sit on a packing-case and talk about ways 
of making money. He was far too clever to condole with 
Ryan over his troubles, but contented himself with point- 
ing out how the present financial embarrassments might 
be lessened. He knew perfectly that Ryan must be eating 
his heart out now to get back to his beloved wilds, and 
guessed that he would be prepared to take risks. And 
so he talked about the men he knew who continually risked 
everything on the chance of a horse, or the rise of a certain 
share ; and Ryan listened with the unspoken question in 
his eyes, and wondered why these men should have money 
to waste, while he would have to work for over a year 


A Narrow Escape 263 

to make up for those first weeks of only comparative 
extravagance. 

“Suppose you come to the races with me on Saturday,” 
Feinbaum suggested one afternoon. “You could get some 
money together and have a bit of a flutter. Not more than 
five or ten pounds, you know. If you went down you 
wouldn’t be much worse off than you are now; and if it 
came off you might be able to get away next week. It’s 
worth the risk, isn’t it?” 

And Ryan perhaps would have gone, only he had not 
the necessary ten pounds to start with. At first he had 
thought of selling Maggie’s ring — which, by the way, 
was still unpaid for. But it recalled such sweet and tender 
memories that he couldn’t bring himself to part with it. 
Had Feinbaum known that this was the real reason of his 
objection to racing it is possible that he would have sug- 
gested a way out. Undoubtedly he would have liked Ryan 
to dispose of that ring, for then he would have seen that 
he was arrested for disposing of property which was not 
his. But as it was, when Ryan shook his head, and said 
that he didn’t care to go to the races, he merely smiled a 
little and altered the attack. 

And meanwhile Mrs. Mason, ably assisted by Frances, 
was doing everything in her power to trace the girls whose 
names appeared on the slip of paper that Lensford had 
given her. With a constantly moving population like that 
of Johannesburg this was by no means so easy as might 
have been expected ; and even when she did find them, 
she had to go to work very circumspectly in order to induce 
them to speak. Knowing as many people as she did, it 
was comparatively easy to find somebody who knew the 
girl’s family, once she was discovered; or who knew a 
friend. And with infinite care and dissimulation intro- 
ductions were gradually effected, and Frances became the 
friend who was to encourage confidence. 

But it all took time, and there were many disappoint- 
ments. One of the girls was found to be so frankly impos- 
sible that her acquaintance had to be hurriedly dropped. 
She was of the kind that would lure men on to almost 
any lengths to test her own power, and it was only when 
she encountered a man like Feinbaum that the danger of 
her actions was apparent. For it is a curious fact that 


The Debt 


264 

though a woman may lead a man on knowingly, and 
laugh at the risks she perfectly understands, it is the 
man who is alv/ays responsible for the first actual step on 
the downward path ; and the woman is responsible for all 
the subsequent ones. 

Another girl had left Johannesburg for good, and they 
only discovered this after searching diligently for days. 
There remained three — and how many more whose names 
were not on that list ! — and it was with this material that 
Mrs. Mason determined to fashion a weapon which should 
be strong enough to crush Feinbaum effectually. She 
did not underrate his cleverness for a moment, and she 
knew that in the usual course of events it would have 
been quite impossible to bring his evil doing home to him. 
But while one girl by herself will not speak, she finds 
strength when she meets others who have suffered even 
as she has suffered, and her tongue is loosened. 

The news of the rupture between Maggie and Ryan was 
a crushing blow to the old lady. She had thought to have 
Feinbaum safely disarmed before anything like that could 
happen, and she was almost afraid of his power when 
she heard how the rupture had come about. It was so 
very natural, and Maggie herself did not think he had 
had anything to do with it. Only Frances, who had not 
been by any means blind during the previous months, knew 
how cleverly the strings had been pulled, and how the 
carefully calculated little annoyances had grown and 
grown till they had rendered the final catastrophe possible. 
Pin-pricks — pin-pricks ! But even pin-pricks will goad to 
desperation if persisted in. 

But at least they did not think there was any immediate 
danger to Ryan himself. Lensford purposely kept out of 
his way during the next week or so, feeling that he would 
prefer to be left alone. When they did meet, he would 
just say a few cheery words, and refrain from any discus- 
sion as to Ryan’s future movements. And so Feinbaum 
had the chance he wanted. In a way he was mad, for 
the sense of any real or fancied wrong outweighed every- 
thing with him, and the lust for vengeance became a 
mania. He had never forgotten that first interview at the 
store, when Ryan had laughed at him ; and now the latter 
was bracketed with those others who had mortally offended 


A Narrow Escape 265 

him, and must undoubtedly suffer. He had no personal 
animus against Ryan, whom he frankly despised as a 
stolid, thick-headed bumpkin ; but of course he must 
avenge that insult. 

It was on the Friday, nearly a fortnight after the break- 
ing of the engagement, that Lensford was driving in from 
the West Rand. He had had a long and trying morning, 
and was feeling wretchedly ill. His heart had been par- 
ticularly troublesome the last few days, and he was con- 
stantly telling himself that he really ought to see a doctor. 
He noticed it more than usual that morning, for there 
was a biting wind blowing, and the dust from the huge, 
white dumps forced its way into his eyes and mouth and 
made life a misery. It was not so bad once you got 
beyond the town proper, and were bowling along towards 
Krugersdorp ; but nearer in it was simply unspeakable. 

His chauffeur was driving on the homeward run, whilst 
he sat behind and strove in vain to shelter himself from 
the stinging particles of powdered quartz which filled the 
air like a cloud. But thank goodness they were nearly 
home now, and he wouldn’t go near the office that after- 
noon. As they swept into Fordsburg, the unlovely suburb 
to the west of the town, a policeman stepped off the 
sidewalk and called to the chauffeur to pull up. 

“What on earth’s the matter now?” Lensford de- 
manded. “ Hang it all, we were only crawling, and in 
any case there’s no traffic about. Hulloa, Donovan, it’s 
you, is it? What particular brand of law have I been 
breaking now? ” 

The constable came up and touched his helmet. 

“There’s nothing wrong, Mr. Lensford,” he said. “We 
know you don’t drive like some of ’em. But Captain 
Patterson ’phoned down to this office and asked me to 
keep my eyes open for you. He knew you had gone to 
the West Rand this morning, and he particularly wants 
to see you. He said I was to ask you to come as soon 
as possible.” 

“Oh, is that all,” Lensford replied easily. He unosten- 
tatiously passed over a silver coin. “Thanks for telling 
me, Donovan. All right, Jones.” 

The car moved slowly off, and when it had gone a few 
yards he leant forward. 


266 


The Debt 


“Drive like the very devil,” he said, “and take me to 
the C.I.D. offices in Marshall Square.” 

For he had suddenly become apprehensive. Captain 
Patterson was a personal friend of his, and was the head 
of the Criminal Investigation Department on the Rand. 
So far as that went, Lensford knew about half of the 
entire police force, for he was fond of talking to the men 
he encountered from time to time, and was known to be 
what they called a real good sort. One or two police cases 
had interested him, and through them he had developed a 
taste for learning about the dark side of life in Johannes- 
burg. 

But he knew Patterson would not send for him unless 
there was something afoot which concerned him person- 
ally, and quite naturally his thoughts turned to Ryan — 
and Feinbaum. Only the previous day some one had said 
to him that Feinbaum seemed to be living at the store 
lately, and he had thought nothing of it. But with Ryan 
in his present depressed state anything was possible. 

In a very little time they pulled up in Marshall Square. 

“Keep the engine running, Jones,” Lensford said briefly. 

He strode into the building and tapped at the door of 
Patterson’s private office. 

“Come in,” a very official voice answered; and then: 
“By Jove, Lensford, I thought you were never coming.” 

“Got hung up over a question of belting at Langlaate,” 
Lensford said lightly. “What’s the news, Patterson?” 

“The news? Oh yes ! I wanted to ask you if you will 
drive me over to Pretoria on Sunday.” 

“My dear chap — of course I will.” 

Lensford knew perfectly well that Patterson had not put 
policemen to watch for him in order to ask him that, but 
the head of the C.I.D. had strong ideas as to the import- 
ance of his official position, and it was not considered 
etiquette to be too direct. 

“Anything exciting in the criminal world?” Lensford 
went on, without appearing to take any real interest. 

Patterson yawned elaborately. 

“Lots,” he said. “One of your men is asking for two 
or three years, unless I’m much mistaken.” 

“Silly ass,” Lensford replied indifferently. “Who is 
he?” 


A Narrow Escape 267 

“Chap named Ryan. Your man Feinbaum has been to 
see me about him once or twice, because he thought he 
was doing a little in the I.G.B.i line. He’s worried us 
into setting a trap, which is timed to go off at 12.30 
to-day.” 

He rummaged among some papers, and then looked out 
of the window. 

“ I only remembered this morning that you used to talk 
to me about a chap named Ryan,” he said quietly. 

Lensford glanced at the clock on the table. It indicated 
twenty-five minutes after noon. 

“I dare say it’s the same fellow,” he said, as he rose 
to take his departure. “ But of course it’s nothing to do 
with me. So long, Patterson — come to my rooms about 
ten on Sunday, eh?” 

“ Right you are. And . . . good luck ! ” 

Once outside the door Lensford wasted no time. He 
ran to the car and curtly told Jones to take the left-hand 
seat. 

“I’m going to drive,” he said, “and unless I only run 
past policemen who know me personally, and are fond of 
me, I shall be run in to-morrow for a dead cert. Hold 
tight.” 

The car leaped forward, and almost before she had gone 
twice her own length he had her on the top gear, and was 
racing through the town at a reckless speed. At the Eloff 
Street corner of the Carlton Hotel a policeman was on 
point duty, and had to jump for his life as Lensford 
swerved by him to avoid a town-going electric car. 

“That was Henderson,” he remarked. “He knows me, 
but I don’t think he will overlook the hurt to his dignity. 
However, thank goodness he didn’t blow his whistle.” 

They tore through Eloff Street with the hooter sounding- 
all the time — and it was a particularly devilish brand of 
hooter too, attached to the exhaust. The policeman at the 
Pritchard Street crossing evidently thought something 
unusual was afoot, and obligingly held up the traffic as 
he saw them racing to him. After that there was only one 
more bad corner, and then Lensford pushed the accelerator 
round, and they raced in silence for the store. 

He pulled up with locked wheels at the very moment that 
1 Illicit gold buying. 


268 


The Debt 


a shabby-looking little man emerged from the store. He 
had already seen that two plain-clothes detectives who 
were known to him were in hiding just round the corner 
he had last passed, and knew that there was not a moment 
to be lost. 

Jumping from the car, he ran into the store, and found 
Ryan standing silently by the door of the inner office. 

“ Give it me — quick ! he commanded. 

Something in his voice compelled obedience, and without 
a word Ryan passed over a little ball that looked like 
nothing so much as particularly dirty silver paper. It was 
gold amalgam, and the possession of it meant a long 
term of imprisonment. 

Lensford looked round quickly, and noticed that the 
skylight to the private office was wide open. With a 
quick movement he stepped back, and the next moment 
had hurled the damning stuff far out over the adjoining 
roofs. 

And not a moment too soon, for even as he turned to 
Ryan, with a cheerful smile on his face, the detectives 
came in. 

“Sorry, Mr. Lensford,” one of them said, “but we want 
this man.” 

He turned to Ryan and administered the customary 
caution as he told him why he was wanted. 

“But, my dear Plant, there is a mistake somewhere,” 
Lensford replied easily. 

“We’ll see about that when we get to the charge office,” 
Plant replied grimly. 

“If he’s been buying amalgam, you’ve got to prove it,” 
Lensford went on. 

“It’s a clear enough case. We sent Smith in with a 
marked packet— not that it needs any mark— and he’s 
come back with the two quid he got for it.” 

“Are the two quid marked?” Lensford inquired 
innocently. 

“Of course not.” 

“Well, he may have got them anywhere. Don’t be so 
futile. Plant, or I shall lose the very excellent opinion I 
have of you.” 

“You’re always joking, Mr. Lensford,” the other 
replied, evidently not in the least offended. “But the 


A Narrow Escape 269 

money doesn’t matter, as it happens. You can carry as 
many quid as you like with you, but you mustn’t carry 
amalgam.” 

“Well, who is carrying amalgam?” Lensford 
demanded. 

For the first time Plant seemed to realise that perhaps 
everything was not as it should be. He turned to Ryan 
and looked at him doubtfully. 

“I don’t know what the usual procedure is,” Lensford 
resumed, “but I should think your chief would be pretty 
mad if you took a man to him and then couldn’t prove 
anything. Why not search him now? I feel convinced 
this is all a mistake. You don’t mind being searched, 
do you, Ryan? ” 

Ryan’s face was rather pale, but otherwise he showed 
no trace of the fear which was gripping him. 

“No,” he said quietly. 

“There you are ! Search him now. Plant, so as to save 
any subsequent unpleasantness.” 

And Plant did search him, very thoroughly, too. After 
that he proceeded to search the store, giving special atten- 
tion to the little office where Ryan kept his books. The 
other detective searched just as diligently, but had no 
better success, and after about half-an-hour’s hard work 
they began to get distinctly annoyed. 

“Look here. Plant,” Lensford said finally. “Send the 
other chap outside with your victim, and let me have a 
talk with you. You know me, and I’ll promise not to 
murder you. ” 

For want of something better to do Plant agreed. The 
second man took Ryan outside, and Lensford carefully 
closed the door after him. 

“Now, my dear Plant,” he said, “ I’m going to talk to 
you as man to man. You haven’t cautioned me, and I 
take it that anything I say will be treated as confidential — 
what do you call it? — over the table, eh?” 

“Yes,” Plant agreed, a little reluctantly. 

“Well, in the first place, you’ll never find that 
amalgam.” 

“Why not?” 

Lensford pointed to the skylight. 

“It went out there,” he explained. 


“ It had a general 


The Debt 


270 

south-easterly direction, but heaven only knows where it 
landed. I should say quite sixty yards away, at the very 
least, and places are pretty crowded hereabouts. It may 
be in a gutter, or in the middle of the road ; or a native 
may have it thankfully stowed away for future reference.” 

” But how ” Plant began helplessly. 

“Now look here, my dear chap, there’s a lot more in 
this case than meets the eye. I don’t admit — even across 
the table — that Ryan did buy the stuff, but there has been 
a dirty conspiracy afoot to make him. If you chaps knew 
the real facts of the case you’d be jolly glad that nothing 
has happened. I tell you that on my word of honour, 
and you know me, don’t you?” 

“Oh, we know you, Mr. Lensford. You’re straight 
enough. But are you sure you are right?” 

“Absolutely. And you may take it from me that you 
won’t get into trouble for bungling the trap. I’ll go 
and see Captain Patterson myself and have a talk with 
him.” 

Plant heaved a sigh of relief. After all, that was what 
had been troubling him most. 

“If you would, Mr. Lensford,” he said. “I think we 
shall have to take the other chap along ; for Smith swears 
he sold the stuff, and he hadn’t any money on him when 
we sent him in.” 

“We’ll all go,” Lensford replied. “I’ll drive you all 
down in my car. It will be a bit of a squeeze, but we’ll 
manage somehow.” 

And so it was arranged. They drove down to Marshall 
Square together; Jones, who was at the wheel, having 
whispered instructions to avoid the more populous streets. 
And there Ryan had a most unhappy quarter of an hour 
at the hands of Captain Patterson, who seemed convinced 
of his guilt, and cross examined him unmercifully. But 
before they went in Lensford had brushed against him 
and had whispered — 

“Remember! You mustn’t say anything. Tell them 
you reserve your defence and will answer in court.” 

And Ryan remembered. If there was one thing at 
which he really excelled it was in keeping silence. Pat- 
terson set traps for him, and worried Jiim, and insulted 
him, but he couldn’t get more than an occasional word 


A Narrow Escape 271 

from him. Finally he turned to Plant with a little gesture 
of annoyance. 

“Take him outside, and then come back to me,” he 
commanded. 

“So far as I can see, we shan’t be able to prove our 
case,” he went on when Plant had returned. “It’s a 
most extraordinary thing that the amalgam should take 
wings to itself as it appears to have done. Who is this 
man Smith, whom you used for the trap?” 

“He’s not a regular man, sir,” Plant replied. “He was 
sent to us by Mr. Feinbaum because Ryan knew him.” 

Patterson leaned back in his chair, and there was a smile 
on his face. Here at last was somebody on whom he 
could wreak vengeance for his own uneasy conscience. 

“By Gad! Of course that’s it!” he exclaimed. “I 
don’t believe the chap Ryan is guilty at all. Better release 
him quietly and say no more about it. But get hold of 
Smith and search him thoroughly — very thoroughly. 
Perhaps he thinks he can stick to the amalgam we gave 
him. I shouldn’t be at all surprised. I’d believe anything 
of a worm who would stoop to act as a trap. Don’t be 
too gentle with him. Plant. And I don’t blame you at all 
for the contretemps. Just a minute ! Didn’t you say 
Mr. Lensford was there?” 

“Yes, sir. He drove up just afterwards.” 

Plant did not desire any further complications. 

“I see. Is he here now? ” 

“Yes, sir. He drove us all here, because he thought 
Mr. Ryan was innocent, the same as you do, sir.” 

“Ah. Ask him to come and see me. I’ll find out from 
him how you conducted the search.” 

Yet when Lensford appeared all he said was that 
Henderson, who had just come off point duty, had 
privately reported him for reckless driving. 

“Privately, you see,” he added. “I can’t have you 
demoralising my force like that, old chap. The beggar 
knows you arc a friend of mine, so doesn’t like to put you 
down in his little book. He said you dashed nearly ran 
over him, so under the circumstances I think justice will 
be met if you give him half a sovereign. Of course he 
ought to have run you in properly, but it’s too late now.” 

“I’m sorry, but I was in a hurry,” Lensford replied. 


The Debt 


272 

with a little smile. “By the way, Ryan wasn’t really 
guilty, was he?” 

“They can’t prove anything,” Patterson said dryly, 
“and I’ve told them to let him go. But of course I shall 
have to send an official report of what has happened to 
Feinbaum. He wrote in the name of your firm, you see.” 

“Which means the poor chap will be sacked,” Lensford 
supplemented. “Strauss will hear of it for certain.” 

“I’m sorry, but you see my position, don’t you? ” 

“Of course I do. And I can’t even begin to tell you 
how dashed grateful I am ” 

Patterson held up his hand. 

“Really!” he said. “Ten o’clock Sunday morning, 
eh?” 

And Lensford retired to find Ryan being congratulated 
by the two detectives. 

“I’m just telling him he’s had a pretty narrow shave,” 
Plant explained, “ and that we shall get him next time for 
sure. Captain Patterson says as Smith must have collared 
the stuff, and we’re going to search him in a minute.” 
He winked knowingly at Lensford. “ Dirty trick to get 
us down there for nothing,” he added virtuously. 

Lensford drew him on one side and pressed a couple of 
bank-notes into his willing hand. 

“One for you, and one for the other chap,” he said. 
“It’s all over, so you can’t call it bribery and corruption. 
But you behaved jolly decently. Plant.” 

“Oh, you had me all right, Mr. Lensford,” Plant replied 
magnanimously, and put his hand into his coat pocket. 

Lensford walked across to Ryan and shook his hand. 

“ Beastly unpleasant for you, my dear chap, but it’s all 
over now,” he said. “Come and sit in the car with me, 
and Jones will drive us back.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


DISMISSED 

Lensford hardly, said a word during the brief drive 
back to the store, except on purely irrelevant subjects; 
but once at their destination, and with Jones safely out 
of hearing, he wasted no time in coming to the point. 

“Why did you do it, Ryan? ” he asked simply. 

Ryan fumbled for his pipe. In times of mental stress 
he always turned to that pipe for comfort. 

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Somehow I felt — I 
don’t think I quite knew what I was doing.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t. Poor old chap, you’ve been 
worrying too much, and people who worry too much do 
all sorts of queer things. But it’s got to stop — most 
certainly it must stop. There must be no more of this 
particular foolishness. You might quite easily have got 
a couple of years in gaol for it, and gaol would be even 
worse than Johannesburg. ’Pon my soul, Ryan, I don’t 
know whether to pat you on the back in friendly sym- 
pathy, or get on that pile of sheet-iron and swear at you 
till I’m out of breath. Now why in heaven’s name did 
you trust that beggar Feinbaum — after all I’ve said to 
you, too?” 

Ryan shook his head miserably. 

“Well,” Lensford went on, “if you were looking for 
trouble you certainly went to the right person. But, 
otherwise, I can’t see why you wanted to have anything 
to do with him.” 

Ryan rose slowly to his feet — for he had subsided on 
to an empty cask as soon as Lensford began to speak to 
him — and his great stature made Lensford look par- 
ticularly insignificant. Outside, the glare of the mid-day 
sun served to accentuate the sordid and tawdry details 
that go to make up life in Johannesburg, and he had felt 
utterly crushed and broken; but here — here in his own 
T 273 


The Debt 


274 

store — where the sun only penetrated in one wide beam 
through the double doors, and the air was heavy with the 
indescribable scents of tar, and wood, and paint, and 
other materialistic things which he thoroughly understood, 
he felt more sure of himself again. 

“I haven’t even thanked you yet,” he began, seeking 
inspiration by gazing fixedly at his pipe, ‘‘but I believe 
you know how I feel about it. No, it isn't just nothing, 
and you know that as well as I do. I don’t know how 
you heard about it, but in another minute it would have 
been too late, and because of my madness — yes, I was 
mad — I should have been sent to prison. It wouldn’t 
have mattered to me, because I am strong ; but how about 
my father, and — and Maggie? What would they think 
of me if I was sent to prison? I don’t think I can tell 
you exactly what made me do it, because I am not a 
clever talker like you are, and cannot explain what I 
mean. But I feel it all plainly enough. Oh, you don’t 
know how I have felt this last fortnight, since . . . since 
it happened. I know now that I have been out of place 
here all along, and that I ought to be with my father, 
driving the wagons, and shooting when I had a chance, 
and eating just when we had time, and sleeping on the 
earth. One cannot breathe here — it is like being slowly 
suffocafed all the time, only at first there are so many 
things to see that you don’t notice it. But because of 
Maggie I did not know how out of place I was; and even 
when I knew how I hated the town, it was enough that 
I had her. What did it matter about the dirt, and the 
dust that is always blowing, and the slinky men who were 
polite just because they wanted to get something out of 
me, and the — the unrealness of everything? She was 
there, and because of her I could forget all these things 
and laugh at them. Yes, I could forget them, Mr. Lens- 
ford, but even with her I could not forget the old life. 
You don’t know how that gets into your bones, and how 
you simply can’t crush down the longing to be out with 
the wagons once more. But she almost made me forget 
it, and sometimes when she — when we were together, I 
think I did forget it. And then, all of a sudden, that is 
finished! She thought — oh yes. I’m sure that’s what she 
thought — that I should be able to go back to the veld, for 


Dismissed 


275 

with her cleverness she knew that I was not for the town ; 
but I, I knew it could not be for a time. There were 
those debts that I owed to different people, and they must 
all be paid off before I could go back to my father, and tell 
him that we could go on the road again together like we 
used to do — like we have always done. But — oh, if only 
I could explain to you, Mr. Lensford ! With her I could 
not help thinking of that life some of the time, so without 
her you can guess what it was like. I worked it out as 
well as I could, for I do not understand figures very well, 
and I found that if I lived as cheaply as possible here, 
and never spent any money on clothes, perhaps I could 
pay off what I owed in a year. A year ! I have been 
here now how long? Seven months! And all of that 
time I have been able to think of her. Yet, even with her 
to help so, it has seemed long to me — so very long. And 
now I must not think of her any more, and . . . there is 
a year ! I haven’t been able to think properly, for it 
seemed such a dreadful time, and my thoughts were all 
mixed up with the veld, and the wagons, and my father. 
And then Mr. Feinbaum came, and kept talking of how 
his friends made money by all sorts of ways, and so 
quickly. I would not have signed anything, because I 
had promised you ; but when I thought it was only myself 
concerned, I did not mind taking any risk. What did a 
risk matter, when perhaps I could make some money 
quickly, and be able to pay what I owe. Every week, 

every day off that year was worth a risk ; and when he 

said lots of men here bought amalgam, because there was 
a lot of gold in it, and then sold it to other men who 
knew how to get the gold out, I wanted to try too. It 
was my own fault. I thought if I could buy some for 
;^2, and then sell it for why, that meant, perhaps, a 
week less I had to stay here. And, after all, it was only 
the gold you found in the earth, so it was as much mine 
as anybody else’s. You see, I couldn’t think clearly. 
And Mr. Feinbaum told me I should get into trouble if 
I was caught, but I did not know how bad it really was. 
I didn’t try to find out, and I don’t know quite what I 

thought would happen. He laughed about it, and said 

that so long as a man wasn’t afraid to take the risks, 
there were splendid profits to be made; and I kept saying 


276 


The Debt 


I wasn’t afraid of any risks. But I don’t think I realised 
that it meant prison, somehow. For myself I don’t mind, 
but the others. ...” 

He threw out his arms with a wild gesture, and the sun 
shining through the open doors lit his face with a lurid 
glory. To Lensford he appeared then as he really was — 
a relic of the days long past. That magnificent physique, 
those mighty arms, the brown beard on the bronzed, 
weather-beaten face, belonged to the time when men 
fought for what they had, and by fighting kept it. And 
here he was a common, modern storeman, checking out 
drums of oil and grease, and entering every detail in a 
ponderous store book. It was too utterly incongruous. 

‘‘I want to get back to it all so badly — so very badly,” 
he went on, speaking passionately — almost pitifully. 
“You don’t know what it means to us men who really 
know it. I wanted to come to town because I did not 
know what it was like ; but now I have seen, and I know 
how mad I was. If only I did not owe that money ” 

“Oh, damn the money ! ” Lensford interrupted. “Can’t 
you see I’m entirely to blame for that? I took you to 
the most expensive people in town, and induced you to 
buy all kinds of things, because I wanted you to realise 
how impossible it was for a man to live here on the 
salary he gets. If I had thought for a moment that you 
would stay here, I should have behaved in an entirely 
different manner, and there would have been none of this 
trouble. The least you can do, my dear chap, is to let 
me advance you the money for the time being. Then 
you can streak away to the wilds, and pay me so much a 
month, according to how things are going with you. It’s 
as simple as possible.” 

“No, it isn’t,” Ryan maintained doggedly. “It’s all 
wrong for you to say it was your fault. I could see you 
were quite different from me, and yet I was fool enough 
to think I could be the same. Don’t they say something 
about making a silk purse from a sow’s ear? I knew 
the things cost a lot of money, but I didn’t even trouble 
to think. But now I see everything. I was wrong — 
wrong from the very beginning, and I must pay the bill. 
It is just like you to offer to let me have the money, but 
we make very little by riding transport, and, in any case. 


Dismissed 


277 

I wouldn’t do it. If I have been a fool, the least I can do 
is to face the consequences. I shall work here till every 
penny is paid, and then I shall go back to my father.” 

Lensford thought of the parable of the prodigal son, 
only this one was going to expiate a very trifling sin 
before he sought forgiveness. After all, it was more 
manly to work out your own salvation than to return 
because you felt it would be too difficult. He had always 
sympathised with the feelings of the brothers who had not 
had their fling. 

“I’m afraid you’ll lose this billet,” he said, for he 
thought it just as well to prepare Ryan. “Mr. Strauss 
is bound to hear about this affair, and, as ours is a mining 
house, our employees have to be above suspicion — so far 
as concerns anything appertaining to the gold industry.” 

Ryan threw back his head, and laughed. 

“I am glad,” he answered. “Up to now I have been 
dependent on others for everything, but now I will find 
something to do by myself. It is not right that I should 
come to you, and then fail in the trust you put in me. I 
have proved unworthy, and I like to think that now I 
must fight without anybody helping me. And I have been 
here long enough to know that it will be a bitter fight. 
That is what I want — a fight ; for the more I have to fight, 
the less time I shall have to think about . . . things.” 

He broke off somewhat abruptly, and resumed his seat 
on the empty cask. It was as though the spark of anima- 
tion had been suddenly blown out, and only the dead ashes 
remained. 

“Can’t I do anything about . . . the other matter?” 
Lensford asked gently. He could read Ryan like a book, 
and perfectly understood the reason for that sudden dejec- 
tion. “I haven’t asked you anything about it, but if it 
was only an ordinary quarrel ” 

“There was no quarrel,” Ryan replied, with simple 
dignity. “ I could not have quarrelled with her, and she 
was much too kind to quarrel with me. It was only that 
she realised the truth, and had the courage to speak of it. 
I have been so afraid of it that I would not admit it to 
myself even. It is that I belong to the veld, and she 
belongs to the town. She would die if I took her to my 
life, and she knows that even with her I could never forget 


The Debt 


278 

the other life. I believe she cared for me, and yet she 
would rather give me up than chain me to the life of town. 
At the time I did not understand, but now it is clear. 
She even told lies, I think, to make it easier for me. All 
the time she only thought of me, and never a little bit of 
herself.” 

Lensford nodded, though, as a matter of fact, he did not 
in the least agree. Clever as he undoubtedly was in 
judging people, he altogether failed with Maggie. Pos- 
sibly it was because he had never troubled to take any 
notice of her, but he had not the least doubt that her 
motives for throwing Ryan over had been purely selfish 
ones. 

“And she was right,” Ryan went on. “It is cruel, for 
I love her. Somehow I don’t mind saying that to you. 
And yet I could never forget the old life. Always there 
would be the longing for the veld, and, no matter how 
I struggled, I could not overcome it. It is beyond me, 
for somehow it seems to be grown into me. I shall never 
care for anybody even a little bit as I do for her, and yet 
that feeling is not strong enough to overcome the other 
one. I don’t understand — I can’t understand; but she 
was right.” 

He bowed his head on his hands, and for a time there 
was silence. Then Lensford rose, and walked towards 
the door. 

“I must be getting along now,” he said, in very matter- 
of-fact tones. “I’m afraid you’ll be sacked, old chap, 
though I’ll see Strauss myself this afternoon, and do 
everything in my power for you. And you must always 
remember that you’ve promised to come to me whenever 
there is anything I can do for you. Are you going to 
have a smack at Feinbaum?” 

Ryan shook his head. 

“No,” he answered. “He told me there was a big 
risk, and it was my own fault.” 

Lensford frowned, but did not comment on the quixotic 
view of the big man. 

“Well, good-bye,” he said. “And buck up, my dear 
chap — buck up.” 

Which is very excellent counsel in its way, but sur- 
prisingly difficult to follow. 


Dismissed 


279 

That afternoon Ryan received a peremptory telephone 
message to present himself at the office at nine o’clock on 
the following morning, and he knew perfectly well what 
that meant. Lensford had had a long interview with old 
Mr. Strauss, and had told him all he knew, and a lot that 
he merely guessed. But the senior partner, though he 
had been sympathetic enough, had quite made up his mind 
that Ryan must go. Dealing as the firm did exclusively 
with the mining companies, it could not afford to keep a 
man on who had been even suspected of having intercourse 
with illicit gold buyers. True, the proceedings had not 
become public as yet, but he knew his Johannesburg well 
enough to understand that within a week the story would 
be known to all the mining houses, and inquiries would 
be quietly made to know if Ryan had been suitably dealt 
with. It was unfortunate, and very likely he had been 
the victim of a foul conspiracy; but, none the less, he 
must go. 

And Ryan himself understood this perfectly. He had 
remarkably strong notions as to right and wrong, despite 
his inexplicable lapse ; and now he had come to a rational 
frame of mind again, he knew that he deserved any 
punishment that might be inflicted on him. 

But there was no sign of perturbation on his face when 
he presented himself at the office the next morning. He 
was ushered into Mr. Strauss’s private room immediately, 
and found the senior partner already there, with Lensford 
and Feinbaum. 

“Ah, Ryan,” Mr. Strauss said sharply. “Have you 
any explanation to offer for the extraordinary happening 
of yesterday ? ” 

Ryan looked helplessly from one man to the other. On 
Feinbaum ’s face he thought he saw a mocking expression, 
but also something of fear. Lensford smiled cheerfully 
at him. 

“No, sir,” he said finally. 

“Then you admit you bought the amalgam?” 

He remembered Lensford ’s advice at Marshall Square. 

“I don’t admit anything, sir,” he said doggedly. “I 
don’t want to talk about the matter. You know what you 
know, and it will do no good for me to say anything.” 

“But I myself ” Feinbaum began eagerly. 


28 o 


The Debt 


“You will kindly be silent, Feinbaum,” Mr. Strauss said 
decisively. “ I have already told you that I consider your 
entire action in this business was most unjustifiable — most 
unjustifiable. You should have reported to me if you had 
any doubts as to Ryan’s integrity; and the unnecessary 
publicity given to the wretched affair owing to your ill- 
advised action in going to the C.I.D. is most annoying. 
Kindly do not interrupt me again.” 

Feinbaum flushed angrily, and shot a vindictive glance 
at Lensford, who was apparently much interested in a 
calendar on the wall. 

“You know what this will mean for you, Ryan?” Mr. 
Strauss went on. 

“Yes, sir. I shall be dismissed.” 

“I’m afraid there is nothing else for it. I shall have to 
dismiss you without a character. I’m afraid.” 

“It is my own fault.” 

Mr. Strauss looked searchingly at his late storeman. 
Somehow there was nothing to indicate guilt, and as he 
stood there with his head slightly bent, twirling his felt 
hat in his hands, he might have been the judge rather 
than the criminal. He was not even ashamed of himself 
— merely gravely sorrowful. At least, so it seemed to 
Mr. Strauss, but then Ryan was accustomed to hiding his 
real feelings. 

“ There is nothing you care to say in extenuation ? ” he 
asked, almost wistfully. 

“Nothing, sir. It is my own fault.” 

“I warned you what the consequences would be,” Fein- 
baum remarked sententiously. 

“Really, Feinbaum ! I have already told you that your 
action in the matter does not appeal to me. Perhaps you 
will leave us now. I have a few words I should like to 
say to Ryan.” 

Feinbaum rose with a scowl on his face, though he had 
no doubt Ryan was merely about to receive a general 
lecture on the folly of the downward path. But it was 
ridiculous that he should be sent out of the room. 

He walked into the typists’ room, and, as it chanced, 
Maggie was by herself. 

“Nice mess your Mr. Ryan has got himself into,” he 
remarked brutally. 


Dismissed 


281 


Maggie took not the slightest notice of him. She had 
been through the fire, and the pain of it had hardened her. 

“You know that letter you wrote to Captain Patterson 
of the C.I.D. ?” he went on. “There was no name. 
It just said that the man I suspected was ready to buy, 
and that if they sent to the place named at half-past 
twelve, they would find the seller ready for them? Well, 
the stuff he wanted to buy was amalgam, and the man 
who wanted to buy it was Ryan. Another of Mr. Lens- 
ford’s pals ! But it is amusing to think that you wrote 
the letter, isn’t it? ” 

Maggie was very white, but otherwise she gave no sign 
of what she was suffering. To her feminine mind it was 
so very clear why Ryan should be desperate. She knew 
nothing about his financial embarrassments, and in a way 
it was almost sweet to her to be able to feel that he, too, 
had suffered. Undoubtedly they must part, but it was 
delightful to think that he had really cared for her. 

“Will he go to prison? ” she said very quietly. 

“No — they bungled it somehow.” There was a distinct 
note of regret in his voice. “I believe Lensford was — 
but of course we are glad it hasn’t gone so far as that. 
Still, he will be sacked without a character, and will never 
be able to get another job in this place.” 

She felt a delicious thrill of relief. After all, what did 
it matter? He would go back to the wilds, and be quite 
happy again. 

Feinbaum seemed to read what was passing in her mind, 
for he suddenly came close to her. 

“He hasn’t been arrested yet,” he whispered. “But if 
I chose to tell all I know he would be. You had better 
be very polite to me in future, Maggie.” 

She met his gaze without flinching. It was not the 
weak, easily influenced Maggie he used to know. 

“If you say anything like that again,” she said steadily, 
“I shall go straight in and report it to Mr. Strauss.” 

Feinbaum was astounded, and considerably perturbed to 
boot. Mr. Strauss was known as one of the straightest 
men in Johannesburg, and if she went with a report — 
coming on top of the Ryan trouble — he felt that things 
would be very black indeed for him. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said uneasily. “You know 


282 


The Debt 


that I should be the last man to get Ryan into trouble — 
so long as he didn’t come between me and my duty to 
the firm. I am exceedingly sorry had to trap him, and 
— and I was only joking. But, speaking as a friend of 
the family, you had better be nice to me, Maggie. I’m 
not a nice man when I’m annoyed, and you know what 
Ethel thinks of me. Also it wouldn’t be much comfort to 
you to report me to Mr. Strauss — especially as he wouldn’t 
believe yfou — when Ryan was already in gaol. Breaking 
stones, maybe.” 

In spite of her brave front, Maggie began to feel a 
return of her old fear of this man. Suppose he really did 
have a hold over Harry, and could send him to prison? 
She had heard whispers in the office that morning. . . . 
And she knew what a devil he was. 

And, in the meantime, Ryan was going through by far 
the hardest part of his interview. When the door closed 
behind Feinbaum, Mr. Strauss dropped his official manner 
altogether, and became his natural, kind-hearted self. 

“As you are now out of the firm, Ryan,” he said, “I 
can talk to you more as a friend. Mr. Lensford has given 
me a few details as to what occurred, and though I do not 
wish in any way to pry into your private affairs, I under- 
stand that your very ignorance of the nature of the offence 
you committed, combined with private circumstances, led 
to a — er— combination of circumstances, as it were, 
against which you were unable to fight. Therefore I 
should like to add that your work for the firm has more 
than satisfied me — more than satisfied me — and that as 
an acknowledgment of the — er — the appreciation I have 
for those services, I shall hand you fifty pounds as a 
gratuity. Call it a bonus. You will find considerable 
difficulty in securing another billet here, and perhaps the 
small sum I mentioned may enable you to make a fresh 
start somewhere else. I have it here in notes, and I 
assure you you have earned it.” 

He beamed in the most affable manner as he held out 
the money, but Ryan made no movement to take it. He 
looked from one to the other of the two men, and seemed 
to be trying to read the riddle of this sudden change of 
front. Lensford was smiling cheerfully, for he had been 
responsible in a great measure for the more than gracious 


Dismissed 


283 

attitude of Mr. Strauss, and he fondly hoped that Ryan 
would now pay off a certain per centage of his debts, and 
then return to the country he loved. It did not occur to 
him to think that he had misjudged Ryan before, and 
might do so again. 

Mr. Strauss was beaming more than ever. He quite 
understood Ryan’s confusion, and thought it only fitting 
that a man who had been so kindly treated should be 
confused. 

“Here, take it, Ryan,” he said, “and then we won’t 
keep you any more.” 

Ryan drew himself up to his full height, and shook his 
head. 

“No,” he said, “I can’t take it. I can’t say these 
things like other people do, but it is much more than I 
had any call to expect. I mean that I think it is wonder- 
ful of you to treat me like this, after what I have done. 
But I can’t take it. I feel that I have been all wrong, 
and I have got to put things right. I want to put them 
right by myself, and until I do that I shan’t be able to 
look anybody in the face. It is the same as my father 
said to me when I left. He said that some people have 
such consciences that they can’t do anything wrong with- 
out suffering for it, and so it’s no credit to them if they’re 
good. That’s what it is with me. I shan’t be at peace 
till I have — have cleared up everything here. If you had 
been somebody else, now, it might have been easier to 
take the money. But you know me, and I know you. 
I’m your man, and you are taking pity on me because I’ve 
made such a mess of things. I think it is wonderful of 
you, but I don’t want pity. I’ll find work somewhere 
here, because I’m strong, and don’t mind what I do; and 
when I’ve saved enough to pay what I owe, then will I 
go away.” — He threw out his arms with a gesture Lens- 
ford knew well, and his whole face was transfigured. — 
“Away — away from all this struggling, and temptation, 
and deceit, and wickedness, where you can’t even breathe, 
and the man you thought was a friend is the very man 
who tries to get you into trouble. But from now I won’t 
have a single friend, for I’m going to work out my own 
release.” 

Mr. Strauss slowly returned the money to his pocket, 


The Debt 


284 

and though he no longer beamed affably, it was evident 
that he had a new respect for Ryan. 

“Very well,” he said. “Perhaps, after all, you are 
right. It will be a struggle for you, but you will have 
the approval of your conscience, and a restless conscience 
is — er — is a strange bed-fellow. I admire your spirit, 
Ryan — admire it immensely. Good luck to you.” 

It was evident that the interview was over. Ryan 
turned to the door and, with a muttered word of farewell, 
opened it. He felt his position keenly because of the 
kindness he had received, for it would have been so very 
much easier to face abuse and accusation. But at least 
it was finished now, and he could begin at once to look 
for work. It might be months, or even years; but every 
day would bring him nearer the time when he would once 
more be with the wagons, and see the road stretching 
away — away towards the bluey-purple foothills in the 
distance. 

Lensford came out immediately after him, and as he 
passed the typists’ room he happened to glance inside, 
and saw that Feinbaum was there, talking to Maggie. 
He also saw that Maggie was white and shaken, and he 
swore softly to himself. 

“Just go into my office a minute, Ryan,” he called out. 
“I want to have a word with you.” 

He turned quickly into the typists’ room, and smiled at 
Maggie. 

“So that’s all right,” he said cheerfully. “I suppose 
you heard. Miss Harris, that a very unpleasant accusation 
had been brought against Mr. Ryan? It has proved to 
be merely the inconceivably caddish trick of an enemy ; 
and though Mr. Ryan must, unfortunately, leave the firm, 
no further blame of any kind will attach to him.” 

“They can’t say anything to send him to prison? ” she 
asked anxiously. 

Lensford thoroughly appreciated the reason for that 
query. 

“No,” he said gently. “As a matter of fact, the enemy 
I mentioned is far more likely to find himself there. 
Indeed, I should be extremely surprised if he isn’t there 
in less than a week.” 

Feinbaum felt a sudden chill of fear. The words were 


Dismissed 285 

Spoken lightly enough, but he knew the menace they held 
for him. What did Lensford know? 

“What do you mean by that? ” he demanded furiously. 

Lensford looked at him with apparent surprise. 

“My dear Feinbaum,” he said, “whai do you mean? 
Manners, my dear chap — manners ! Miss Harris, will you 
kindly go to my office, and — er — wait for me? I have a 
few letters for you.” 

He watched her as she left the room, and then turned 
to Feinbaum again. 

“For your own good,” he said, “you had better come 
to my room at the club at five o’clock this evening. I 
warn you that if you don’t you will be arrested to-morrow. 
We will not discuss it now, because there are some things 
which one does not care to discuss more often than 
necessary. Don’t shout at me ! You can please yourself 
whether you come or not — but I know you will come.” 

And without another word he left the office. 

He was about to go to his own room, but suddenly 
remembered that he had sent both Ryan and Maggie 
there. It had been unintentional on his part, but he was 
really glad when he remembered it. Perhaps, after all, 
fate had stepped in, and the two would patch up their 
differences. He was himself a thorough fatalist. 

But nothing was further from Ryan’s thoughts. He 
was undoubtedly surprised when Maggie entered the room, 
and the red colour surged to his face. As for her, she 
stopped short on the threshold, and then closed the door 
softly. 

“There is no danger, Harry,” she said softly. “Mr. 
Lensford says they are going to bring the other man to 
justice, and you have nothing to fear.” 

He walked to her, and took one of her hands in both 
of his. 

“No, there is no danger,” he repeated. “But I 
shouldn’t care if there was. I wanted to see you, Maggie, 
to tell you that I understand now.” 

“ Understand? ” 

“Yes,” he went on, with unconscious cruelty. “You 
were quite right, and it would never have done for us to 
marry. You must have the town, and I must have the 
country. That is certain, and so you were right to send 


286 


The Debt 


me away. But I know now that you lied to me so as to 
make it easier. I am sure you did. Maggie — dear little 
Maggie — always thinking of me, and never of yourself. 
For I believe you cared for me, and that must have made 
it harder.” 

“Don’t!” she begged pitifully. 

“ But I must. You will hear tales of me, but you will 
always know that because of you I determined to go 
straight at last, and because of you I don’t mind the 
struggle till I can return to my father and look him in the 
face. It may be that I can never crush the love I have 
for the road, but because of you, whom I no longer have 
any right to love, I can at least crush it till I am fit for it 
again. If only I was different — if only I was different 1 
You will marry somebody who is more like you one of 
these days, Maggie, and that will be best. But for me, 
I have the recollection of you, and not heaven itself can 
take that away. I shall never want to look at another 
girl, but when I get back to the veld, and we are out- 
spanned at night, I shall walk off a little way by myself, 
and there in the darkness your face will come to me, and 
I shall be happy. Happy, dear, because I shall be able 
to think of you and happier because I have not married 
you to make you miserable. I shan’t see you again, 
Maggie, or I wouldn’t say this. But you will never know 
how wonderful you are to me. And I wish you could learn 
to hate me. Good-bye, dear, and tell Mr. Lensford I 
wouldn’t wait. I don’t believe he wanted to see me.” 

He bent down and reverently kissed her on the forehead. 
Then he opened the door, and, without a backward glance, 
left her for ever. 

Maggie stood perfectly still in the middle of the room 
till she could no longer hear his footsteps. Then, quite 
suddenly, her knees seemed to give beneath her, and she 
sank to the ground, a distraught, broken-hearted little 
figure. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A FORCED RETREAT 

That Monday was a busy day for Lensford. He 
returned to his office in about half-an-hour, hoping against 
hope that he would find Maggie and Ryan together, and 
hear that all the differences had been adjusted. Instead, 
he found her lying in the middle of the room, sobbing her 
heart out. He did his utmost to comfort her, cursing 
himself all the time for having once more made a mess of 
things ; and she gradually became calmer, and was able 
to talk to him. It was then that he learned more of both 
Ryan and herself than he had ever known, for she was 
grateful for his sympathy, and, knowing what a friend 
he had been to Ryan, seemed to find a mournful pleasure 
in talking of the happy days that had been. And Lens- 
ford was able to fill in the gaps she left, for he had a 
shrewd idea as to the warp in Feinbaum’s character, and 
held nothing to be too mean for him to attempt. 

He sent out for some tea, and talked to her cheerfully 
as she drank it. For though he felt that he had been 
wrong in his estimate of her character, he thought she 
would soon forget her troubles as other suitors appeared 
on the scene. 

“You see. Miss Maggie,” he said, “it is probably for 
the best, just as he said. Your natures are essentially 
different, and though some people say that such natures 
get along all right after marriage, they are absolutely 
wrong. You may differ in minor particulars, but your 
main outlook on life must be the same. It is much better 
for you to be able to keep a gracious recollection of a 
man, than perhaps to prove by experience that you were 
wrong. Undoubtedly Ryan is a splendid chap, but 
whether he would make a satisfactory husband is another 
matter. Small details of home life would bother him, 
for he is meant only for the broader aspects of life. He 

287 


288 


The Debt 


belongs to the veld, and the veld will claim him in the 
end. I am fearfully sorry for you, for he told me how 
you made him accept his release so that he could get back 
to the life he loved ; but I really think it was the best 
thing you could have done. And you are still very 
young.” 

She looked at him with a pitiful little smile. 

“Yes, I am still very young,” she murmured, and the 
bitter irony of it was almost humorous. For she felt so 
utterly old then. 

“Of course you are,” he went on cheerfully. “In a 
few months, when you have got over this, there will be 
lots of other fellows for you to pick and choose from. 
You see, you are — forgive me — a very pretty young lady, 
and the men of Johannesburg are by no means blind.” 

And so he blundered on, cheering her in spite of herself 
by the very clumsiness of his efforts, till in the end she 
found herself laughing a little occasionally. He took 
everything so much as a matter of course, and was so 
obviously convinced that her chief grief was due to the 
fact that she had lost a suitor, and not the suitor. 
Johannesburg was in his blood, and he could no longer 
appreciate the possibility of an old-world love. 

In the end he insisted that she should do no more work 
that day, and drove her home in his own car. And after 
that he hurried on to Parktown, for there was still some 
evidence to be gathered against Feinbaum, and at least 
he must have enough ready by the evening to carry 
conviction. 

And Feinbaum kept his appointment. He was ushered 
into Lensford’s room at the club punctually at five, and 
it was evident at once that he meant to try and bluster. 

“Tve come, you see,” he exclaimed, “but you needn’t 
think it is because I’m afraid of you. On the contrary, 
I think you will be afraid of me before we’ve finished, 
for I don’t allow any man to talk to me like you did this 
morning. I want to know at once what you meant by 
it. No beating about the bush, mind you, but come 
straight to the point. And after that I shall have some- 
thing to say.” 

“Right you are,” Lensford answered easily. “Perhaps 
you had better sit down, eh? What I have to say will 


A Forced Retreat 


289 

take very little time. It is simply that you must 
clear out of Johannesburg before the end of the week, 
and sign a paper promising that you will never return 
here.” 

Feinbaum was so surprised that he forgot to laugh. 

“You’re mad,” he said. 

“Yes. I am inclined to think it is a mistake myself, 
but there are the feelings of other people to consider. 
Personally I should like to hand all the facts at my dis- 
posal over to the C.I.D.j and have nothing whatever to 
do with it myself. But we can’t always do what we like 
in this world.” 

“Go on,” Feinbaum said sarcastically. 

“The chief indictments refer to women — or rather, to 
young girls. There is no need to give details, is there? ” 

“And you propose to sit in judgment on me because of 
that ! My word, Lensford, but you’ve got a damned cool 
cheek. I could tell some tales about you if I liked.” 

“ Exactly. But you see, these facts refer to you, and 
not to me. Also there is a difference. My backslidings, 
such as they are — and I grant you I am no saint — have 
not brought me within the reach of the law; and yours 
have. It is a very awkward difference. I have sinned 
along the customary, authorised lines, as it were; you 
have gone out of your way to be a blackguard, and a cad, 
and a loathsome animal of the vilest description. Now 
don’t get excited ! You asked for it, and in any case you 
can have your innings when I’ve finished. You refuse to 
admit liability, then?” 

“Certainly I do. I haven’t the faintest idea what you 
are driving at.” 

“We will proceed, then.” 

He spread out some papers on the table before him, 
and sorted them carefully. 

“ I have here some copies of interesting statements,” 
he said. “ Copies, you will observe. The first is — let me 
see — Violet Hastings. She used to be a typist in our 
office, and she left very suddenly. It appears that you 
made certain proposals to her, and made use of your posi- 
tion with the firm to apply pressure, as it were. A very 
dirty trick that, Feinbaum. Eventually she left suddenly, 
as I said, rather than be persecuted any more. Fortun- 
u 


The Debt 


290 

ately for her, she had a home to go to. Clever girl, too. 
She gives dates, and the narrative is full of detail. Shall 
I read it? No? Well, just as you like. When I got 
this, it occurred to me that we have. had other typists who 
left suddenly, and some of them — poor girls ! — doubtless 
had no home to go to. However, that can be found out 
later. 

“Then we come to Rosie Marco witz. You flew rather 
high that time, eh? It appears you offered to teach her 
to drive a motor-car, and on the afternoon of the 23rd of 
September, igio — what, don’t you want to hear that 
either? It is a rather good one, for we have the evidence 
of two men who saw her jump from the car while it was 
going. That was about a mile beyond Orange Grove. 
She told them it was nothing, at the time, but they insisted 
on seeing her back to her home. In this statement she 
doesn’t say it was nothing, because she knew other girls 
were also telling the things that had happened. 

“And here,” he went on, and his voice grew hard and 
stern, “we have the case of Frances Harris. Oh, you 
infernal coward, Feinbaum ! It is a most damnable case, 
and ought to mean several years hard labour — possibly 
lashes, too. There is one very important witness, and 
fortunately I know his address ” — which was a lie. “ He 
will be only too glad to come and testify against you, for 
it appears he regrets not having done so at the time. It 
was only his innate chivalry that made him respect the 
wishes of Miss Frances; and now he has permission to 
speak, he wants to do so very badly. 

“You seem to have had a particular hatred for the 
Harris family. First the father — by the way, you were a 
fool not to have that promissory note destroyed, you 
know. If you had agreed to pay it out of your own 
pocket, you could easily have got it back. But in order 
to save a paltry hundred pounds, you let it slide when 
you saw how convinced everybody was of the guilt of the 
other man. Now I happen to know old Silke, whose 
endorsement was forged, and I got him to lend me that 
bill. At the time he preferred to hush the matter up 
because he had known Harris so well. Well, it will 
interest you to hear that two writing experts have declared 
the forgery was not done by Harris. It is a very difficult 


A Forced Retreat 


291 

thing to swear to the writing in a forged signature, but 
this is at least interesting. It makes one wonder, doesn’t 
it? Silke is thinking of re-opening the case. 

“And after you have ruined the father, you set to work 
on the daughters. Poor little Maggie, who never harmed 
anybody in her life. Worried and driven from pillar to 
post, because she hadn’t the wit to see that you were 
just a mean-spirited, crawling blackguard ” 

But Feinbaum had heard enough. He knew now that 
Lensford must have been slowly piecing his information 
together for years, and that the end had come. It drove 
him to a frenzy of madness to think that this quiet, super- 
cilious man, whom he had always hated and yet feared, 
had won after all, and with a snarl of rage he rushed 
at him. 

But Lensford was watching carefully, in spite of his 
apparent indifference; and Feinbaum stopped short as he 
found himself looking into the barrel of a *38 revolver, 
with Lensford ’s finger pressed against the trigger. 

“Oh, you silly fool,” Lensford said quietly. “Do you 
think I don’t know what sort of man you are? And what 
good would it do you if you did kill me? These are only 
copies, as I told you. The originals are in the possession 
of Captain Patterson, who has certain private instructions. 
And so far as that goes, one of Patterson’s men is strolling 
up and down outside the club, and unless he gets a signal 
from me, he will arrest you as soon as you step outside. 
Annoying, isn’t it? But I didn’t feel like leaving any- 
thing to chance with you. You’re such a poisonous, low- 
down cad.” 

Feinbaum knew then that the game was up, and his one 
aim was to save himself. 

“Don’t be hard on me, Lensford,” he said. “If you 
only knew how I have struggled and struggled against 
the curse in my blood, you would be sorry for me. How 
I have suffered when nature has been too strong for me ! ” 

“Oh, don’t drivel,” Lensford interrupted sharply. “I 
find it infernally difficult not to hand you over to the 
C.I.D. as it is, and if you try cant, I shall certainly 
give the objectionable signal to the man who is waiting for 
you. But the ladies you have insulted naturally have to 
think of their own names. They are determined you shall 
u 2 


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292 

leave the town, but if you do so, they will not take any 
other steps unless occasion arises.” 

‘‘Til go,” Feinbaum said eagerly. “I’ll go to-night, 
if you like, and I’ll promise on my word of honour never 
to come back again.” 

“Your word of honour ! Ye gods, what are we coming 
to. But here is a paper setting forth just a few of your 
damnable tricks that I have been able to trace. You will 
sign that, so as the ladies will have a weapon to hold over 
your head, and I will witness your signature. After that 
you may do what you like, so long as you leave this place. 
You can say you are going for a holiday, and never return. 
But you must go before the end of the week. That’s 
the cruel part of it all. The very beastliness of your 
actions makes it so difficult to get justice done without 
compromising others. But perhaps you won’t sign? ” he 
ended hopefully. 

“Yes, I’ll sign. You have only heard one side of the 
question, and you don’t know how difficult it is when girls 
are always running after you, and saying things to you, 
and absolutely asking ” 

“The ladies whose names are here never did any run- 
ning, and the others don’t concern me. It’s quite futile 
to try that sort of game, Feinbaum, and the sooner you 
sign and get out of it, the better I shall be pleased. 
Here’s the paper. You may tear it up if you like.” 

But Feinbaum did not tear it up. He was shaken with 
a very real dread, for he knew at last how near he was to 
a long term of imprisonment. With a hand that trembled 
slightly he signed his name, and Lensford gravely 
witnessed the signature. 

“Well, that’s done,” he said. “All that remains is for 
you to vanish before I change my mind. At least, that 
is not quite all. I have always longed to show you in 
some practical manner what I thought of you, but have 
been confronted by the difficulty that you were twice as 
big as I was. But now I am going to take a cowardly 
advantage — a most cowardly advantage. You know what 
will happen if I don’t signal from the window, don’t 
you? Well, I am going to thrash you unmercifully with 
my riding-crop. Call it my commission for collecting all 
this evidence. If you make the least resistance, the signal 


A Forced Retreat 


293 


will not be given, and then the law will step in. On the 
whole, I hope you do resist. Kindly bend down over that 
chair.” 

“But you can’t mean it? You wouldn’t be such a 
coward, Lensford. You’re only joking.” 

Lensford smiled grimly. 

“No, I’m not,” he replied, rubbing his hands together, 
“and you’ll realise how serious I am in a few minutes. I 
feel that it would be beneath my dignity to hit you any 
other way, and the whole idea appeals to my sense of 
humour. It is the only thing that reconciles me to letting 
you get away. Bend down.” 

Feinbaum argued, and begged, and even went down 
on his knees finally, but Lensford was quite obdurate. 
And in the end the big man had perforce to submit, and 
received such a sound thrashing that it was as much as 
he could do to walk down the stairs and into the street. 
And when he got there he saw Detective Plant lounging 
unostentatiously on the opposite side of the road. Plant 
saw him too, and looked at him with a sort of proprietary 
interest that was particularly maddening. Then he 
glanced up at Lensford’s window, and what he saw there 
seemed to fill him with a very real regret. 

But he did not molest Feinbaum in any way, and the 
latter walked to his rooms in a state of frenzy. He was 
filled with a wild lust of hate against Lensford, and Mrs. 
Mason, and those girls who had testified against him, and 
Ryan, but he knew he dare not revenge himself in any 
way. He was on the very verge of a precipice, and the 
slightest false step might send him to the bottom. With 
all his savage instincts, he was no fool, and he had not 
the slightest intention of seeking revenge till he could do 
so with more than a reasonable hope of safety to himself. 
He could wait, and though it might be years, he would 
make them all suffer — how he would make them suffer ! 
He derived some small satisfaction from the very thought 
of it. 

But once arrived at his rooms, he turned his attention 
to the more pressing needs of the present. Undoubtedly 
he must go away, and that at once. He did not care to 
stay in Johannesburg a moment longer than was absolutely 
necessary after the ordeal he had been through. Every 


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294 

man he saw was a possible detective, waiting to arrest 
him ; and every moment was filled with terrors of what the 
next moment might bring forth. Also he feared that 
Lensford might talk a little, and he knew that he was not 
liked as it was. He had been quietly putting money away 
for several years now, and given one day to realise, he 
would have a comfortable sum with which to make a fresh 
start somewhere else. It didn’t matter to him where. 
He had a genius for making money, and he knew that he 
would soon find his feet anywhere. 

But he must make it look as though he went of his 
own free will. He would say he needed a holiday, and 
could then pretend he had found something more lucrative 
elsewhere, and so (jlid not deem it worth while to return. 
People would be quite impressed if he threw up a billet 
such as the one he held so lightly. They would say that he 
must be very clever indeed, and very well off. Very well off ! 
He liked to think they would say that, because, when all 
was said and done, it was the only thing that counted in 
Johannesburg. Why, he might even go up a lot in their 
estimation. He was essentially a vain man, and these 
reflections cheered him up more than he would have 
thought possible. But for the blazing pain all over his 
body, where Lensford ’s hunting-crop had fallen, he could 
almost have laughed at the whole business. It had been 
a narrow escape — a very narrow escape — but he was to 
get off absolutely free. The loss of his situation was 
comparatively trifling, for he had a good deal of money 
put by, and could doubtless do better if he made a fresh 
start. At Durban, for instance, or Capetown. People 
there weren’t half so smart as in Johannesburg, and he 
had no doubt he would get along famously. He would 
call himself the African and European Loan, Finance and 
Discount Company, or something imposing like that; and 
the fish would very soon begin to come into his net. It 
was ridiculously easy. 

But for the present, the pains he was suffering were very 
real. When he had taken his clothes off, he could dis- 
tinctly feel the raised weals on his back, and he gritted 
his teeth with rage and pain as he thought of his recent 
helplessness in the hands of the avenger. But it was a 
small matter. He could bear pain if it was necessary, and 


A Forced Retreat 


295 

perhaps he would be able to get even with Lensford later 
on. And so he bathed himself with cold water, and 
applied a soothing ointment to the affected parts, as well 
as he was able. 

He had dinner at the Carlton Hotel, and allowed him- 
self the luxury of a bottle of champagne. He told himself 
it was to celebrate his escape from what might have been 
a very dangerous dilemma, and his conscience troubled 
him not at all as to the causes which had led to the trouble. 
It was distinctly unfortunate that he had been found out, 
but it might have been so very much worse. 

And after dinner he sat in the lounge, smoking an 
excellent cigar, and wondered what he should do to pass 
away the evening. His affairs were always in such model 
order that there was really nothing to be done from a 
business point of view till the morning. But he must 
certainly be amused, or he would begin to think about 
that wretched detective again. 

He tossed down the liqueur which the waiter had 
brought to him — for he liked to take one some little time 
after his meal — and laughed quietly. He would go up to 
Edendale ! That would surely be more amusing than 
attending the theatre. He would never see them again, 
but of course they would not know that. He would try 
to get Ethel alone, and make the pace with her. He 
knew what a little fool she was, but there was always her 
mother. He had not been to the house since the rupture 
between Maggie and Ryan, but he knew Mrs. Harris was 
beginning to look askance at him. Still, it would be 
infinitely diverting to talk to them, with the knowledge 
that in a couple of days at most he would have left 
Johannesburg for ever. He could sympathise with Maggie 
concerning Ryan’s lapse, and watch her distress and 
embarrassment. It was almost a pity that Frances wasn’t 
still there. 

He rose to his feet, and stretched himself luxuriously. 
Life was really a most amusing business, and so long as 
you laid your plans carefully, and used your brains, it was 
extremely difficult for your misdeeds to be brought home 
to you. Undoubtedly it had been a mistake to try any 
liberties with Frances — he had felt that even at the time, 
but his instincts had been too strong for him. She had 


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296 

SO much more spirit than the others. But there — we are 
all liable to make mistakes. He was quite convinced that 
she was at the bottom of the present trouble. 

He got his hat and coat, and then strolled out and 
hailed a taxi. Nothing mattered as he was leaving, and 
he would be so cheerful and friendly that Mrs. Harris 
would sing his praises louder than ever. It would be 
very amusing. 

He leaned back in the taxi, and then sat up suddenly 
as the state of his back was brought painfully to his 
remembrance. 

“Damn that man,” he muttered vengefully. “It was a 
dirty, cowardly trick too, when he knew that I could not 
protect myself in any way. He took a mean advantage. 
If it hadn’t been for that detective, I could easily 
have pretended to give in to him, and then catch him 
when he wasn’t ready, and pretty well screw his neck 
for him.” 

He smoked meditatively till the car drew up at Eden- 
dale, and then had an argument with the driver as to the 
amount of his fare. He knew that it was really just over 
the mile, but he didn’t see why he should pay the extra 
sixpence if the man could be bluffed out of it. Unfortun- 
ately for him, it is not easy to bluff a Johannesburg taxi 
driver, and in the end he paid another shilling rather than 
be driven back to the police station. The very mention 
of such a place made him capitulate abjectly. 

And Mrs. Harris was far from amiable. 

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, by way of greeting, and went 
on with her sewing. 

It was not the sort of treatment that Feinbaum was 
accustomed to, but on this evening he could afford to laugh 
at it. Still, he wondered just how much Mrs. Harris 
knew. He was beginning to have that feeling about all 
sorts of people, and it was certainly just as well that he 
was leaving Johannesburg. 

But Ethel more than atoned for any coldness on her 
mother’s part. She chatted continuously about the 
weather, and her dresses, and Feinbaum ’s wonderful 
cleverness, till he could have laughed aloud at her trans- 
parency. She even suggested, in the most casual manner 
possible, that perhaps they might be more comfortable in 


A Forced Retreat 


297 

the drawing-room, but Mrs. Harris intervened in the most 
decided way. 

“You’ll stay where you are,” she said tersely. “You 
know that Maggie is writing letters in the drawing-room.” 

“But she could write just as well in here,” Ethel pro- 
tested. Of late her mother had shown a distressing 
inclination to favour Maggie, and she not unnaturally felt 
that she had a grievance. 

“I dare say she could — ^but she isn’t going to,” Mrs. 
Harris replied carelessly. “Poor girl, it’s little happiness 
she has these days, and if she likes to be alone a bit, you 
should think shame of yourself for interfering with her. 
Any one would think that you were ashamed to say the 
things you want to talk about before me.” 

Which was so surprisingly like one of Ethel’s own 
arguments, that it completely silenced her. 

However, she continued to chat to Feinbaum, and he 
continued to be amiable, till Mr. Edwards — the funny man 
— happened to come into the room. 

“ Hulloa — ^good evening, Mr. Feinbaum,” he said 
jauntily. “Quite a stranger, ain’t you? Miss ’Arris 
there has been giving us all no end of a bad time because 
you didn’t show up. Suppose you’ve been giving some of 
the other girls a treat, eh? ” 

He laughed loudly at his own wit, and Feinbaum, who 
rarely took any notice of him, joined in. 

“You’re a very amusing fellow, Edwards,” he said 
affably. 

“Go on now — you’re pulling my leg. But I do like 
to get a bit of fun out of life when it ’appens along, and 
no offence meant.” 

“I suppose you manage to amuse yourself pretty well 
here?” Feinbaum asked politely. 

“You bet. Miss ’Arris can be jolly good company when 
she likes, and not too stuck up neither.” 

Which did not seem to please Miss Harris as well as 
might have been expected. She had not the least wish to 
talk even to Mr. Edwards — so long as Feinbaum was 
there. 

“Ah, I see,” Feinbaum rejoined. “There’s a lot of fun 
to be got out of a boarding-house, I suppose, if you know 
your way about.” 


The Debt 


298 

“Oh, you seem to know your way about pretty well,” 
Mr. Edwards answered, with a laugh. “You wouldn’t 
believe what a terror ’e is with the girls. Miss ’Arris. If 
I was you, I should keep an eye on him.” 

“I’m surprised at you, Mr. Edwards,” Ethel said 
indignantly. 

“It’s only my jokes,” Mr. Edwards protested. “It’s 
because I’m going off on an ’oliday to-morrow, I suppose. 
Sort of makes me feel a bit above myself.” 

Feinbaum was suddenly interested. He also was think- 
ing of going for a holiday. 

“So you’re going away, are you?” he said. “And 
where do you think of going? ” 

“Oh, I’m a bit of an explorer, I am,” Mr. Edwards 
replied. “ None of your beaten tracks for me. The 
railway is issuing special excursion tickets, and you can 
get from here to the top of the old Mont Aux Sources 
and back for about eight quid. I’m on ! ’Aven’t you 
seen their book about the ‘ Challenge of the Drakensberg, ’ 
and the ‘ South African Alps ’? A pal of mine went up 
last year, and ’e says it’s as easy as anything. You ride 
nearly all the way, and there’s no walking worth mention- 
ing. What O ! me as a giddy cow-boy ! ” 

Feinbaum was now really interested. Why shouldn’t 
he go there? It would give him time to think, and he 
rather liked the idea of getting right away from towns 
for a few days 

“How long does it take? ” he asked. 

“About a week It depends where you go when you 
get there.” 

“I see. By Jove, do you know, I feel half inclined to 
come with you. It must be lovely up there.” 

Mr. Edwards gasped. He loved to be seen in the 
society of the great, and to him Feinbaum represented 
almost unlimited affluence and prosperity. 

“You’re joking,” he said. 

“ I assure you I’m not. It would be quite an experience, 
and I really need a holiday. I’ve been feeling a bit seedy 
ever since my accident.” 

Ethel did not know whether to be gratified or not. In 
a way it accentuated her proprietary claim in him, his 
going for a holiday with a man from the house; but she 


A Forced Retreat 


299 

did not like to think of the things which Mr. Edwards 
might very possibly say about her. 

“Are you sure you can get off, Rudolf?” she asked, 
with that genius which some women have for saying the 
wrong thing. 

“ Get off ! ” He laughed loudly. “ My dear Ethel, do 
you think I’m a tuppeny-ha ’penny clerk? I say I’m 
going — I don’t ‘get off.’ I’ve more than half a mind to 
come with you, Edwards.” 

“I wish you would, Mr. Feinbaum,” Mr. Edwards 
replied effusively. When they returned to Johannesburg 
he would be quite a friend of Feinbaum ’s. 

Feinbaum looked at Mrs. Harris, who was resolutely 
declining to take the slightest interest in him ; and at 
Ethel, who fluttered round him more than ever now that 
Mr. Edwards was present to witness the performance. 
It would be a notable exit, and at the end he could say 
he didn’t feel like returning to Johannesburg for a few 
weeks. They would all be very impressed. 

“We’ll call it settled, then,” he said. “The train goes 
to-morrow evening, doesn’t it? ” 

For with such chance threads does Fate weave the web 
of destiny. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


POETIC JUSTICE 

Mr. Jack Payne, the genial proprietor of the little Good 
Hope Hotel, which stood in the sheltered lowlands about 
a day’s journey from the Mont Aux Sources, was taking 
the sun on the broad verandah of his establishment late one 
afternoon. It had been a bright, blustering day, but the 
wind from the Berg had enough of a bite in it to make 
the sheltered side of the place enticing, and Mr. Payne’s 
idea of taking the sun was to sprawl in a deck chair and 
allow the sun to do the rest. 

Round the corner of the building there rode a man who, 
from his dress, belonged to yet more remote parts of the 
country. His battered felt hat had lost all semblance of 
its original shape and colour, and his coat was in little 
better case. He wore riding-breeches of sorts, and his 
leggings and boots were sound enough. In appearance 
he was insignificant, being under average height and 
slimly built. His eyes were large and brown, and one 
suspected that the mouth hidden by that curling beard 
was a weak mouth. But the ruddy hue of health on his 
face, and the unconscious grace with which he sat his 
sturdy, ungroomed pony told of a clean life and an easy 
conscience. 

He was leading a pack pony, by the side of which a 
four-month-old foal trotted ; and as the cavalcade came to 
a halt in the yard, Mr. Jack Payne sat up with a start. 

“Hulloa — by my only hat, if it isn’t old James rolled 
up again,” he called out. “Here, where are those boys. 
Jim ! Hand the outfit over to him, James, and come and 
have a drink. It must be six months since I saw you, and 
I thought you had slipped over somewhere or other and 
finished with the Berg for good and all. How goes it? ” 

“Pretty well, thanks,” the other man replied, as he 
warmly shook hands. “ I came down to have a bit of a 

300 


301 


Poetic Justice 

yarn with you, and lay in a few supplies. No work this 
time. Man, but you wouldn’t believe how lovely it is 
round the Tugela Gorge just now, with the new things all 
coming on.” 

“Well, I see a fairish amount of that locality, at any 
rate. What with me doing the follow-the-man-from- 
Cook’s business. But you’re looking amazingly fit. 
Come and have a drink.” 

They walked off towards the little bar, and a native 
standing near by saw the man addressed as James and 
grinned appreciatively. 

“LwmeZa, Motsamat,” he called out by way of greeting, 
and the small man answered him in his own tongue. 

For this was the white man who came from no one 
knew where, and who had lived on the Berg for many years 
now. He had wandered from end to end of that mighty 
range, and probably knew more about it than any white 
man, either living or dead. He had made it his home, and 
in winter, when the blizzards raged, he knew that he 
could always find welcome and shelter at any of the kraals 
in the secluded valleys of the mountains. He spoke Sesuto 
as well as the natives themselves, and they had long ago 
given him the name of Motsamai, which means a traveller. 
It took them nearly a year to get over their first suspicion 
of him, for they look askance at any white man who 
wanders among those fastnesses for no apparent reason ; 
but after that they had decided that there was no harm in 
him, and if he preferred to go about as he did, and hunt, 
and shoot, they could quite understand that it was a lot 
better than working. 

To the few whites who knew of him he had ceased to be 
a mystery. At least, he was still as much a mystery as 
when he first came to the mountains some six years before, 
but they no longer tried to solve him. They regarded him 
as being just a little queer, and for the rest he was a real 
good chap, and as sane as you liked to talk to. They loved 
to make him yarn about those long, interesting expeditions 
of his, when he penetrated to the almost unknown fast- 
nesses of the Berg by himself, and came back full of the 
wonders of a certain view, or a picturesque waterfall. 
And he would tell them about the caves he found, and the 
quaint paintings of the extinct bushmen. 


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302 

Every so often he would come to Jack Payne’s place 
and would work for a couple of months, or perhaps more. 
He never spent any of the money he earned there till he 
was about to leave, when he would lay in a large stock of 
provisions, and a few good blankets, and one or two 
likely presents for native chiefs who were friends of his, 
and other odds and ends till his funds were exhausted. 
Then he would cheerfully bid adieu to the man who was at 
the same time his friend and his employer, and disappear 
altogether for perhaps a year. 

He had no expenses, for he lived as the natives live, and 
he was a welcome guest with any of the mountain tribes. 
But to his credit be it said that he never forgot he was a 
white man. He had learned to feel a very real affection 
for the more or less unsophisticated Basutos who live in 
the shadow of the Berg, and he was only too glad to 
avail himself of their hospitality. But he knew, and they 
knew, that he was a white man and they were natives. 
Possibly each respected the other the more for this know- 
ledge; for of all men, the white man who sinks to the 
level of the black in all things is the one they despise 
the most. 

And so he lived his life, a puzzle to white men and 
natives alike, and a friend of all who knew him. He loved 
the peaceful beauty, the majestic grandeur of the moun- 
tains, and he never seemed to desire any closer tie with 
civilisation than the Good Hope Hotel. 

“Aren’t you broke yet?’’ Payne inquired good- 
humouredly, when they were seated comfortably on the bar 
counter. “ I could do with a man to give me a hand just 
now, and I’d give you a couple of quid a week and your 
keep, the same as usual. We get a good few visitors 
since the railway started booming the mountains; and if 
they’re satisfied, I should be the last to grumble.” 

James was sipping his whisky very slowly. He did not 
touch spirits for months at a time, and the taste brought 
back old recollections to him. 

“It doesn’t really matter to me one way or another,” he 
said. “ I managed to do a deal with some horses — brought 
them down on commission, you know — so I’m pretty well 
off for funds now. But perhaps after all I’ll stop. I don’t 
like to run away as soon as I’ve seen you, old chap, and 


Poetic Justice 303 

one month’s pretty much the same as another to me. I 
suppose you’ll want me to keep an eye on the place when 
you trek off to the summit, and to take a party myself 
sometimes? ” 

“Yes. And to put in some work in the garden. You 
seem to be able to make these niggers work twice as well 
as I can, and you never have any trouble with them.” 

“It’s rather a curious position, really,” James answered. 
“ I come down here and boss up a boy who is working for 
you, and see he doesn’t shirk, and talk to him if he needs 
it; and perhaps a few months afterwards I am his guest 
somewhere in the middle of the Se Hong Hong. Perhaps 
I’ll put in a month with him, if the weather is bad, or there 
is any hunting round about; and he wouldn’t dream of 
taking a penny in payment. Makes you think, doesn’t 
it?” 

“But you’re an exception. Look at those other whites 
who have tried to lead a life something like yours. They 
all become sodden, good-for-nothing wasters. The real 
secret is that they do it because they’re too darned lazy to 
work ; and you do it because you love Nature. That’s what 
makes all the difference. I dare say you had other reasons 
when you started the life — maybe you had been bitten by 
those silly tales about the mineral wealth of the moun- 
tains. But you’ve got past all that now, and anybody can 
see you lead the life you do because you love the big 
distances, and the solitude, and the roughness of it all.” 

James took off his hat and put it on the counter beside 
him. One noticed that he had a very good forehead. 

“That’s true enough,” he said. “It’s got into my blood 
now, and I wouldn’t go back to civilisation for anything. 
The natives are all right once you understand them, and 
they all know me now. I never get anything but kindness 
from them, and there are scores of them who are almost 
friends. And then the hunting in some of the places ! I’ve 
got a gun licence, and I follow the rhebuck over places 
that would have made me faint a few years ago. It’s a 
man’s life.” 

“But it doesn’t lead anywhere.” 

“No, that’s why I like it. I don’t want to get any- 
where. If you get anywhere, there is always the strain 
of staying there, and it isn’t worth it. It comes about as 


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304 

near to the ‘ take no heed for the morrow ’ ideal as you 
could wish in our modern world, and it suits me.” 

“Well, each man to his taste. I’m doing pretty well 
these days, and I’m content to rub along at it. And now 
start telling me some of your more recent adventures.” 

And so James plunged into a long and entirely uncon- 
nected narrative, which was none the less interesting. He 
loved to tell of the things he had seen and the places he 
had been to, and in Payne he found a sympathetic listener, 
for he also knew the mountains and loved them. For the 
rest of the afternoon they yarned to each other, and it 
was only when they heard the sound of wheels outside 
that Payne rose reluctantly, and remarked that he reckoned 
that was his latest load of tourists. 

Outside could be plainly heard the sounds of laughing 
and talking, and one voice easily dominated the others. 
James rose to his feet with a curiously alert expression on 
his face, and listened intently. Then he walked softly to 
the door, and watched the party of tourists as they 
descended from the cart. Even in the gathering dusk it 
was easy for him to make them out, and he drew back 
again with a little hiss of astonishment. 

“Well, of all the strange things,” he murmured. “By 
Jove, but it is a curious world.” 

Payne returned in about half-an-hour, and found him 
still seated on the counter, smoking placidly. 

“Well, they’re fixed up at grub now,” he said. “Six 
of ’em, and not one of the whole batch worth the trouble. 
An unlicked cub, and an assertive Jew, and a brace of 
married couples. They won’t appreciate the grandeur of 
the spectacle when you show it them. Sometimes it seems 
a waste of time to me to chaperon them up.” 

James removed his pipe from his mouth. 

“I’ll take that crowd up,” he said. 

“Will you really? But they’re not your style at all. 
They’ll make silly jokes when you show them the best 
parts, and the fat Jew will insist on riding to the very top, 
even if it kills the wretched pony.” 

“Still I’ll take them. I want to, somehow. And of 
course I shall keep to the beaten track. They can say 
what they like about that, for it doesn’t appeal to me.” 

“If you mean it, I should be jolly glad. I’m not too 


Poetic Justice 305 

keen on going this week, for I ran a nail into my foot a 
couple of days ago, and it’s still sore. You won’t mind 
taking them ? ” 

“Not a bit. I want to. It will be better than labouring 
in the garden, at any rate. Start at the usual time, I 
suppose? There’s no need to rush it.” 

And so it was settled. On the morrow the party of 
Johannesburgers set out, with James as their guide, and 
packs and natives in attendance. With them were Fein- 
baum and Mr, Edwards, and the latter enlivened the 
tedium of the journey by making extremely funny remarks 
about the scenery en route, and shouting boisterous greet- 
ings to any natives they happened to meet. As he put it, 
he was out to enjoy himself, and he made the most of 
things. 

They journeyed to the foot of the Mont Aux Sources 
that day, and camped for the night in a huge cave worn 
in the side of a hill. They were all a little tired and quiet 
after the unaccustomed exercise, and even Mr. Edwards 
did not have much to say when the evening meal was 
finished. But Feinbaum tried to induce their polite but 
taciturn guide to speak, for he had noticed that the latter 
was greeted courteously by nearly every native they en- 
countered, and he wondered how he came to know them 
all. Also he was haunted by the idea that he had met 
the guide before, and though he racked his brains to 
recall him, he was quite unable to do so. 

But James was not a promising conversationalist just 
then. He answered all Feinbaum’s remarks politely but 
shortly, and after about an hour of this unprofitable labour 
the big man gave it up, and proceeded to wrap himself 
in his blankets. 

After which James walked across to the boys’ fire, and 
seating himself there, proceeded to have a long talk to 
them in their own language. Which was, of course, a 
most undignified thing to do. 

He roused the tourists at daybreak, for they had a long 
day before them. After they had snatched a hurried 
breakfast, the ponies were led up, each with a spare girth 
fastened in front of the saddle, and so round their chests, 
for there was a steep climb to be negotiated. Sturdy 
little beasts they were, standing less than fourteen hands 

X 


The Debt 


306 

for the most part, and with their thick winter coats giving 
them an appearance of shabby untidiness. But they could 
go where more valuable horses would have failed alto- 
gether, and they would keep on till they dropped. 

Even Mr. Edwards seemed very subdued as he mounted. 
The air was cold, and there was a nasty wind from the 
top of the Berg. Moreover, he had not slept too well on 
his unaccustomed couch of mother earth, with but a thin 
covering of dried grass, and he did not relish rising so 
early. He began to think that he had been a fool to 
come, and that he would have been far better off just 
loafing round the streets in Johannesburg. But he must 
keep up a bold appearance in order to impress Feinbaum. 

Feinbaum, of course, had constituted himself the chief 
of the little band. He talked to James in loud, autocratic 
tones, and propounded his views as to the wonderful 
scenery they encountered at much length. Occasionally 
he would make little jokes, at which the whole party 
laughed immoderately ; for you will always find people who 
must bow to a dominating personality. He was enjoying 
his sense of superiority immensely, and was more than 
ever convinced that it had been an excellent idea to under- 
take the trip. It made him feel more sure of himself, and 
gave him time to mature his plan of future campaign. 

And so eventually they won to the summit of the climb, 
and gazed on that wonderful view over Natal, where the 
Tugela river makes its tremendous jump towards the low- 
lands, and the majesty of the scene seems to grip you by 
the throat, and stifle you with a feeling of your own un- 
worthiness. Huge rocks were tumbled everywhere, and 
a little way off the unsealed Buttress towered in mighty 
isolation. Everything seemed hushed at that immense 
altitude, and only the wind wailed a doleful protest against 
the sacrilegious intruders who dared to outrage the 
mysterious solitudes of the place the natives call the Roof 
of the World. 

Mr. Edwards began to feel much better. That finished 
the climb, at any rate; and it would be easy going down. 

“It ain’t ’arf bad, is it?” he remarked cheerfully. 

“It is a wonderful spectacle,” Feinbaum replied sen- 
tentiously. He was quite aware that this was supposed 
to be one of the grandest views in the world, and he liked 


Poetic Justice 307 

to think he was having his money’s worth. “It is one of 
the most gorgeous sights I have ever seen.” 

“I suppose you’ve been about quite a bit?” Mr. 
Edwards resumed, with the idea of propitiating the oracle. 

Feinbaum unbent at once. 

“It is not so grand as — as the Matterhorn, perhaps,” 
he said; “but still it is very good — very good indeed,” 

“We’ll have lunch just close by,” James interrupted 
callously. “There is a sheltered spot, and if you follow 
me we’ll soon have a fire going. I can only allow an 
hour up here. Those are very pretty cloud effects below, 
aren’t they? If you are caught in a mist, you may have 
to stay days in one place.” 

“My word,” Mr. Edwards replied, vaguely disturbed, 
“what about me? If I don’t get back to Johannesburg 
up to time I shall get the sack.” 

“The mists won’t trouble me,” James replied, with a 
little smile. “ And there is a good track nearly all the way 
for us.” 

The party moved off to the spot selected, where the boys 
had already started a fire, and the modest lunch was 
speedily discussed. It was only a scratch meal, for they 
had not cared to hamper themselves with too many things, 
and there would be a satisfactory dinner at the cave that 
night. 

And when the food was all finished, and the men were 
lying at full length on the coarse grass, smoking the pipe 
of contentment, James walked over to Feinbaum. 

“ I should like to have a word with you,” he said. And 
then, when they had moved a few paces away : “ There is 
a really magnificent view close by — better than the one 
you have just seen. But I don’t like to take the others. 
You see, it is right at the edge of a sheer drop of several 
hundred feet, and some people are so nervy. Anybody 
going over there would keep on with about a couple of 
bounces for a matter of three thousand feet. But if you 
care to see it you can come with me now. The others 
must stay here.” 

Feinbaum was immensely pleased. It gratified his 
vanity to be singled out like this, and he turned to the 
others with a condescending wave of the hand. 

“I’m just going along with Mr. James to a rather 


The Debt 


308 

dangerous spot,” he called out. “You had better stay 
here with the others, Edwards, for it calls for a sfrong 
head. Mr. James will only take me.” 

The rest of the party evinced no wild desire to accom- 
pany them, mainly because they were all so tired that the 
prospect of any unnecessary exertion did not appeal to 
them. James led the way across a dip to their left, and 
so to a rocky slope that appeared to lead to the foot of 
an inaccessible rock face, while Feinbaum panted after 
him as best he could. But when they reached the foot of 
that massive escarpment, it was seen that a crack rent it 
from top to bottom, and they were able to ascend this, 
and so reach the extreme summit. 

“There ! ” James said triumphantly, as he stood on the 
very edge of a tremendous drop and waved his arm in the 
direction of the lowlands. “That’s something like a view, 
isn’t it? ” 

Feinbaum approached cautiously, for there was a dis- 
turbing wind, and gazed for a few minutes without speak- 
ing. As a matter of sober fact, he was getting his breath 
back. 

“Wonderful!” he said at last. “Wonderful! I must 
certainly tell the others what they have missed.” 

“And yet I didn’t bring you here just to see it,” James 
went on. “I wanted to have a talk with you.” 

“What’s that? ” 

Feinbaum looked at him with sudden apprehension. 
Perhaps he was a detective. 

“Don’t you know me?” James said. “My real name 
is Harris, you know.” 

The big man drew a breath of relief, though he was still 
a little anxious. But it was better than a detective. 

“Harris!” he exclaimed. “Why, of course. I knew 
perfectly well that I had seen you somewhere, but for the 
life of me couldn’t remember where. There’s a tremend- 
ous difference, you know. That beard, and the colouring, 
and your whole appearance. But you needn’t be afraid— 

I won’t tell a soul.” 

James — or rather, Harris — laughed lightly. 

“ Fow haven’t altered,” he said, and managed to convey 
an insult with the words. “I want to have a talk with 
you, Feinbaum — a very serious talk.” 


Poetic Justice 309 

“Are you hard up? I can’t let you blackmail me, but 
for the sake of old times I would willingly help to a certain 
extent.” 

“It isn’t that. It’s just . . . you! I’ve been thinking 
about that bill, with Silke’s endorsement on it. Lord, 
what a weak fool I was in those days ! But when you 
told me the endorsement was a forgery, and that I should 
get into trouble as well as you, because my name was on 
the front of the bill, I believed you. My nerve was all 
gone, because of the life I had been leading ; and it 
sounded feasible enough when you said nobody would 
believe I wasn’t equally guilty with you. You remember 
the arrangement? You were to go north, to Rhodesia, and 
I was to make for the coast. Well, it seems incredible, 
but I never suspected you till last year, when, by the 
merest chance, I heard that you were still in Johannes- 
burg, and — stranger still ! — still in your old position. It 
was plain enough then. Because I was a fool, you induced 
me to run away, and then sheltered yourself behind me. 
What surprises me is that I didn’t see through it at the 
time ; but I was terrified at the thought of arrest, and I 
really believed you. It was quite a simple, easy plan, 
wasn’t it? I knew you were an outsider in many ways, 
but I didn’t think you would let up on me like that. And 
the humorous part was that I was really innocent of the 
whole business. I had half the money, but I had no idea 
Silke’s signature wasn’t genuine.” 

Feinbaum said nothing. His brain was working at a 
furious rate, for he recognised that this new Harris was a 
very different man from the old one he had known. He 
had been so near safety too. ... It was too unfair. 

“Well, what about it? ” Harris demanded. 

The other licked his dry lips. 

“It’s no good my telling you how sorry I am,” he said 
feverishly. “After you went, I — I found means to pay 
the bill, and nothing was ever said about it. Of course 
that was it — you might have guessed. I tried by every 
means in my power to find you, so as to let you know 
that the trouble had blown over, but you had utterly 
disappeared. How could I guess you were in the 
mountains? ” 

Harris was looking at him searchingly. 


The Debt 


310 

“So that was it, was it,” he said incredulously. “Well, 
in that case there is nothing to prevent my going back to 
Johannesburg, is there? ” 

Feinbaum hesitated for the fraction of a second. It 
would mean that he would have to clear from the country 
in earnest, but he would have a good start. 

“Of course there isn’t,” he answered. “I’ll prepare 
things for you when I get back, and if you come up in 
about six weeks, or a couple of months, we’ll have a 
decent job ready for you, and ” 

Harris laughed again. 

“I’m no longer a fool,” he said. “Give you six weeks 
to fake up any sort of yarn you like ! No, Feinbaum, I 
don’t trust you further than I could throw you. I don’t 
really care a bit about it, one way ^ or the other, but I 
have a daughter to consider, and in justice to her I must 
clear my name. I have been saving every penny I could 
lay hands on this last year for the purpose, and in any 
case should have come to the Rand in a few months. As 
it is, I shan’t let you out of my sight till we are there 
together. In justice to little Frances — and also in justice 
to myself. It is not nice to feel that you have been made 
a fool and a scapegoat.” 

The colour had all left Feinbaum ’s face now, and his 
knees almost shook under him. So this was the end — 
just when he was telling himself how easy everything was. 
Why had he ever undertaken this ridiculous trip? If he 
went back to Johannesburg with Harris he would be 
instantly arrested. And the matter of the bill coming on 
top of the other things would be absolutely fatal. It was 
all so unfair, to cheat him into thinking he had escaped 
so cleverly, and then spring this mine on him. And so 
utterly unexpected. He had thought that Harris was dead 
years before. 

“You’ll be a fool to come back,” he said hoarsely. 
“Your wife has been waiting for you a long time now, 
and . . . she’ll be glad to see you.” 

“That is a matter of no importance. Once my name is 
cleared I shall return to my life in the mountains. My 
wife is no fool, and the house is in my name — not hers. 
We were married by ante-nuptial contract too.” 

He stood quite calmly on the verge of the precipice, and 


Poetic Justice 3 1 1 

Feinbaum knew that all his hopes were of no avail now. 
This new, determined Harris was the rock on which he 
had not reckoned, and all his promising schemes were 
hopelessly wrecked. It was so unexpected — so utterly 
unfair. 

“I’m not going back to Johannesburg,” he said at last. 

Harris laughed again. 

“So you’ve been up to some more of your tricks, have 
you,” he said. “But I assure you you are going back. 
We will go together as soon as ever we get back to the 
Good Hope.” 

And then Feinbaum went mad. Who was this insig- 
nificant man that he should thrust himself between him 
and his certain freedom? He ought to have been dead, 
and in any case the trouble which had touched him had 
happened years ago, and there was no need to dig it all 
up. He looked at him viciously as he stood so uncon- 
cernedly on the edge of that tremendous drop, for Harris 
was so accustomed to the mountains that he treated their 
dangers with contempt. Just a sudden little push, and the 
last of the evidence against him would be blotted out. A 
little push, and it would sound so probable to say he slipped 
over through his own carelessness. It was so easy 
too. . . . 

The perspiration was standing in beads on his forehead, 
for he was filled with a ghastly fear for his own safety and 
his own thoughts. He had never yet committed murder. 

“You mustn’t go to Johannesburg,” he said — almost in 
a whisper. 

“Don’t be a fool, Feinbaum. What can it matter to 
you, if there is nothing against me? And if there is, you 
have had your innings, and ought to realise that the game 
is up.” 

“But look here,” Feinbaum began, and advanced a 
couple of steps. He was quite close to Harris now, and 
it was absurdly easy. 

“Go to h — 1 then, curse you,” he shouted, and sprang 
forward. 

Harris saw the danger, and jumped desperately to one 
side. But he was not quite quick enough, and Fein- 
baum ’s outstretched hand caught him on the shoulder and 
spun him round. He knew that he must go over then, 


The Debt 


312 

though for a full second he swayed on the very edge, and 
saw the mists swirling in the depths below him. But he 
could not recover his balance, and quite slowly was going 
to certain death. 

It seemed ages to both of them, though in reality it all 
took place in the fraction of a second. With a last despair- 
ing effort Harris leaped upwards and outwards, and, turn- 
ing his body in mid air, made a wild clutch at the rock 
as he dropped. It was a wonderful effort, and his out- 
stretched right hand caught Feinbaum’s leg, and closed 
round it like a vice. The sudden jerk brought the big man 
down on his back with a crash ; and there he lay, with his 
legs over the precipice, and Harris hanging on grimly. 

For a few seconds there was silence. Then — 

“Pull up — pull up quick,” Harris yelled. “There’s no 
grip on that rock, you fool, and we’ll both drop as sure as 
anything. Quick ! ” 

But the jar had knocked all the breath out of Fein- 
baum’s body, and at first he could do nothing. Slowly but 
surely that weight on his legs told, and he realised that 
he was slipping — slipping towards the eternity he dreaded. 

With a gasp and a groan he pulled himself together. 
He was very strong, and if only he could get rid of that 
dragging weight on his legs he could pull himself up 
easily. But he must turn over first. He had fallen on 
his back, and could do nothing in that position. 

With infinite care he groped over the smooth surface of 
the rock for some sort of a projection; and then, feeling 
that he was still slipping, he gave one prodigious heave 
and managed to turn completely over. His hands reached 
and clawed at the rock, and for the moment he knew 
that he had won a respite. 

Harris, swinging giddily above that awful drop, sent a 
shout echoing among the hills. It was the typical call of 
the mountain Basuto, when he hails his fellow perhaps a 
mile or more away. The two natives with the rest of the 
tourists jumped to their feet and listened intently. They 
knew the voice of Motsamai, but why should he call? 

Again the cry reverberated among the rocky fastnesses, 
and then, after a pause, words followed in Sesuto. * 

“Come — come at once — the big man — he is falling.” 

Harris knew how they would interpret that shout. It 


313 


Poetic Justice 

was usual, when any venturesome spirit desired to look 
into that dizzy chasm, for him to lie flat on his face, and 
so worm his way to the very edge. There was a slight 
downward slope towards that edge, so the guide would 
hold the gazer by the ankle to steady him. With many 
people it was a most necessary precaution, for the sight 
of that tremendous drop played strange tricks with their 
nerves. The boys would think Feinbaum was slipping 
forward, and that Harris was not strong enough to pull 
him back. They would come up as fast as ever they could. 
But would they be in time? 

And now Feinbaum had slipped till his legs were right 
over the edge. Lying face downwards as he was, the 
agony he had endured through the straining weight of 
Harris against the direction of his knee-joints had been 
terrific, and it was almost a relief when his grip gave a 
little, and he slipped further down. There was a dreadful 
ache in his arms, but he could hold on quite well like this, 
and help would come. 

And then he thought again, savagely, how easy it 
would be if he could get rid of Harris. 

“Let go, Harris,” he called out. “For God’s sake let 
go. I can’t possibly hold on more than a few seconds, 
and there is no reason why we should both be killed. 
They can’t possibly save you, but if you will only drop I 
may manage to scramble up.” 

And Harris, who had been gazing, half hypnotised, into 
the iridescent swathes of cloud far below, laughed ! It 
was so like the Feinbaum he had known years ago to 
suggest such a thing. He didn’t want to die, but then he 
could not have desired a better death. In the very heart 
of the mountains he loved, and dragging his enemy with 
him. Probably their bodies would never be found ; but if 
they were, it would be seen that he was still holding the 
other man by the leg, and they would say he had died in 
trying to save him. It was really rather amusing. He 
laughed again — harshly. 

And then Feinbaum screamed. In spite of his efforts 
he was still slipping — and Harris laughed. He tried 
desperately to kick him off against the face of the preci- 
pice, but only succeeded in lacerating his own knees and 
slipping a little further towards that merciless edge. 


The Debt 


314 

He shut his mouth with a snap, and concentrated all 
his energies on gripping the smooth surface of the rock. 
If only there was just a little projection ! His fingers 
were torn and bleeding at the tips, and the muscles in 
his arms were strained to breaking point ; the perspiration 
was pouring down his face, and there was a roaring in 
his ears. 

“For God’s sake let go, Harris,” he gasped, and there 
was a sob in his voice. 

But Harris didn’t even hear. He was looking at the 
silver thread of the Tugela river, far below, and it seemed 
to be beckoning him. And there was a hawk right beneath 
him. He wondered if he would hit that hawk as he fell, 
but his wonder was quite impersonal, and he had no fear. 
The spell of the mountains was reaching and calling for 
him, and he felt a delicious sense of peace. 

Down in the riven gap up which they had climbed, 
Feinbaum heard the rattle of a stone, and knew that help 
was near. But he was nearly spent, and there was a 
bloody mist before his eyes. He tried to cry out again, 
but no sound came. 

And then his left arm gave out, and the weight below 
dragged him till his whole body was over the precipice. 
He clutched at the smooth, slippery surface of the rock 
with straining, tearing fingers, and even then managed 
to arrest his progress for a few seconds. 

But human endurance had its limits, and his hands 
slowly slipped towards the extreme edge, leaving a bloody 
track to each finger. He could hear the boys plainly 
now, and they must be almost on the top. 

His left arm gave again, and he swung round as the 
weight on his legs told. For a few seconds of eternity 
he hung on the edge, supporting his own body and that 
of Harris with the grip of one hand. 

And then, quite slowly, that hand slipped over the edge. 
He made a last wild clutch at the unyielding rock face, 
and then vanished into the depths. 

The leading boy heard a scream of awful terror as he 
charged up the last few yards of the climb. He advanced 
very cautiously to the edge and peered over. 

''Khele!^' he exclaimed, “but they will be broken very 
small.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE AFTERMATH 

The news of Feinbaum’s tragic death reached Johannes- 
burg two days later, and Ethel was one of the first to hear 
it. She happened to be in town that morning, and a scare 
headline on the poster of one of the morning papers made 
her spend a tickey which was otherwise destined to pay 
her car fare home. 

“Fatality at Mont Aux Sources. — Death of a well-known 
Johannesburger,” the announcement ran, with that vague- 
ness which is calculated to awaken curiosity, and Ethel 
bought a paper. 

It was only a very brief, telegraphed paragraph, but 
it told her all she wanted to know. Her Rudolf had been 
killed — killed through venturing where the others did not 
care to go. But . . . she would look very well in black, 
and nobody would be able to contradict anything she said 
about him now. 

She went straight back to the house, but did not take 
the paper with her. When her mother asked what had 
brought her back, she said, quite naturally, that she had 
forgotten her purse, and hurried to her room. There she 
took a small box from a locked drawer, and carefully 
counted the contents. There were a couple of half- 
sovereigns, and seventeen shillings and sixpence in silver, 
and she nodded to herself in a satisfied way as she counted 
it. It was not much, but it might do. 

She went to town again, and called at a little jeweller’s 
shop that was not in a fashionable street. It was a dingy 
place, and there were three brass balls above the door. 

“ I want to see some second-hand rings,” she said. 

“What sort, miss,” the dealer asked. 

“Gentleman’s signet. It doesn’t matter much what it 
is like. Just plain gold, I think. But it mustn’t be at 
all expensive.” 


315 


The Debt 


316 

The man fetched a tray containing a miscellaneous col- 
lection of signet rings, and pushed it across to her. 

“Unredeemed pledges,” he said, “and you can ’ave any 
of ’em at less than ’arf what they cost originally. Look 
at that one with the red stone — ain’t it a beauty? Real 
blood-stone, and eighteen carat gold. You can ’ave it for 
three pound.” 

Ethel sorted over the rings, and, not being imaginative, 
it did not occur to her to speculate as to what tragedies 
those very ordinary gold circlets could tell had they but 
tongues. There were crests that belonged to famous 
regiments, and heraldic designs that you could have 
matched on the stained glass windows of some old English 
church. There were intricate monograms, and plain 
initials, and smooth, blank surfaces that seemed to hint 
at what might have been ; and they gleamed dully at her 
in gold, and green, and red, according to the style of the 
ring. 

But Ethel displayed not the slightest interest in the 
various designs. What she wanted was a perfectly plain 
ring, and it must be cheap. The outside price was 
;^i 175. 6 d. She turned them over impatiently, looking 
at the little tickets attached to any that might have been 
suitable, and finding them in all cases beyond her means. 

At the very last she found a ring with a deeply-engraved 
monogram, and was struck at once by the prominence of 
the letter “F.” She examined it closely, and decided that 
one of the other letters might quite reasonably be an “R,” 
while the design was so intricate that the third letter might 
easily be explained as part of the decoration. It was an 
extraordinary coincidence. She looked at the price, and 
found it to be £2 los. Evidently the dealer had not a 
very high idea of the quality of the eighteen carat gold. 

“They are all so dear,” she said. 

“You wouldn’t get ’em ’arf so cheap anywhere else, 
miss. I’m selling off, or I couldn’t do it myself. Which 
one did you fancy ? ” 

She held up the one with the obvious “ F ” and the more 
than possible “R.” 

“This one is not bad,” she said, “but the price is 
ridiculous. I only want to spend thirty shillings.” 

The dealer was rather pained than angry. 


The Aftermath 


317 


“D’you expect a ring like that for thirty bob?” he 
exclaimed. “ Eighteen carat, and carved by ’and. If you 
went into Pritchard Street they’d ask you for five quid 
for it.” 

“But I only want to give thirty shillings.” 

Ethel had long ago realised the great truth concealed in 
the parable of the importunate widow, and had based her 
whole life on it. Constant reiteration will wear away any 
resolution. 

The jeweller gesticulated with his hands, and was appar- 
ently on the point of tears. 

“I only want to give thirty shillings,” she repeated. 

He gave in. 

“Look here, miss. I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. 
“You can ’ave it for two pound. It cost me more than 
that.” 

“I only want to give thirty shillings,” Ethel said 
stolidly. 

“Thirty shillings! Well, you can’t ’ave it. It’s rob- 
bery — that’s what it is. What you want is a nine carat 
ring.” 

“I’ll take that one — for thirty shillings.” 

The man took the tray roughly, and walked away with 
it. Ethel realised that he was in earnest, and calmly 
counted out all her available wealth on the counter. 

“ There I ” she said, and, thinking better of it, quickly 
picked up one half-crown. “That’s every penny I have. 
It’s thirty-five shillings, and if you don’t care to take it. 
I’ll go somewhere else.” 

The jeweller hesitated, and was lost. Without a word 
he picked up the money, and rudely tossed the ring across 
the counter. Ethel picked it up without taking the slight- 
est notice of him, and walked from the shop. 

She walked quickly away from town, and tried the ring 
on her finger when nobody was near. Her hand was by 
no means a small one, and the ring fitted her second finger 
perfectly. She left it there, and pulled her glove on over 
it. Then she went home. 

At lunch time Maggie arrived full of the dire news, 
though to her the death of Feinbaum was such an ex- 
quisite relief that she felt happier than she had been for 
weeks. But it would be a terrible blow for Ethel. 


The Debt 


318 

She ran into the house to find Ethel sitting in the 
dining-room with her mother. 

“Oh,” she cried, “have you heard? It’s dreadful, and 
they say he must have been killed before he reached the 
bottom.” 

“ He? Who? ” Mrs. Harris asked. 

“I hardly like. . . . Ethel dear, it will be dreadful for 
you. I’m afraid.” 

Ethel was quite enjoying herself. 

“Tell me — what is it?” she demanded tragically, and 
clutched at her bosom. 

“Mr. Feinbaum,” Maggie replied, in a hushed voice. 
“He fell over a precipice, and was dashed to pieces.” 

Ethel swayed a little as she stood, and tried to go deadly 
white. 

“Oh,” she moaned, “my Rudolf ! my poor, poor Rudolf ! 
And look ! Before he left he gave me this, and we were 
really and properly engaged.” 

She held out her left hand till she was satisfied that they 
had both seen the ring, and then subsided in one of the 
easy-chairs, sobbing and crying convulsively. 

But somehow Mrs. Harris was not impressed. In the 
first place they had not been out of her sight for a moment 
on that last night, so he could not have given it to her ; 
and in the second place she knew that Ethel could not 
have resisted the temptation of showing it to everybody 
the moment she had got it — of course in the strictest 
secrecy. She was beginning to be almost cruelly accurate 
in her estimate of the character of her eldest daughter. 

“That’ll do, Ethel,” she said sharply. “You’re always 
crying for nothing, so you can’t expect us to come and 
fuss over you. If he’s been killed I’m sorry for him, but 
for the rest I don’t think he’s any great loss. I’ve been 
hearing some very funny tales about him lately, and I 
don’t believe you cared tuppence for him really. D’you 
hear what I say? Stop making that noise, or I’ll send 
you to your room, and keep you there for the rest of the 
afternoon.” 

And Ethel meekly capitulated. For even the most artful 
of us are like to overreach ourselves occasionally, and 
imprisonment in one’s room is to be avoided. 

It was some days before all the details of the tragedy 


The Aftermath 


319 


were known — or the apparent details, rather. Mr. 
Edwards found himself quite a hero on his return to 
Johannesburg, and related how he also had rushed to the 
rescue, but had been just too late. He declared he had 
almost seen James as he was dragged over, and had 
brought back a small piece of rock which was supposed 
to have been dislodged from the very edge of the precipice. 
Also he had heard that last scream, but he didn’t like to 
talk about that. 

Lensford was entirely indifferent as to what had hap- 
pened. Himself a fatalist, he deemed that Feinbaum had 
been called to the Mont Aux Sources by some power beyond 
his control, and had there fulfilled his destiny as it had 
been written from the commencement. In a way he was 
glad, for he didn’t like to think of a man like that let 
loose to carry on his blackguardly career in other towns, 
and had been grieved at having to let him escape. How- 
ever, it had all turned out for the best. The man was 
killed — killed with what accompanying horrors nobody 
could say — and the names of the women were not smirched 
in any way. 

He had carried the news to Enfield Lodge, and had been 
quietly amused at the manner in which it was received. 
Mrs. Mason was very old, and it was evident that she was 
shocked. She was near to death herself, and perhaps 
did not care to think that she had sent Feinbaum to his 
final reckoning. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I could not have done 
otherwise. Some one had to expose the man, or many 
more would have suffered. And, after all, we did not tell 
him to go to such an out-of-the way place. I ’m beginning 
to think as you do, Frank — it was fate. No, after all, I 
don’t think I am really sorry. He was a debased brute.” 

Sorry ! ” Frances echoed indignantly. “Goodness only 
knows what tragedies you prevented when you joined with 
Mr. Lensford to expose him. You can’t think how glad 
I am that I was allowed to help. I’m glad he’s dead — 
tremendously glad. And I hope he wasn’t killed outright, 
but lingered for hours, all broken to pieces, and with wild 
things creeping up to him.” 

“ Frances ! ” Mrs. Mason protested. 

“But it’s true. Do you think I could ever forgive him? 


The Debt 


320 

Do you think I have any right to forgive him, and still 
retain my self-respect? No, he ” 

She seemed to recollect that Lensford was present, and 
checked herself abruptly. 

“Knowing as much as we do,” he said gravely, “I think 
we have every reason to feel glad that he is dead. Our 
real duty was to send him to prison, but, out of considera- 
tion for the feelings of others, we did not do this. Yet 
think what harm he might have done elsewhere ! I am 
no saint, but it makes me positively cold when I think of 
that man. Don’t let us talk about him.” 

“No. What has become of Harry Ryan?” Frances 
asked. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know. I passed the word along 
quietly to some of my friends on the Reef, but respected 
his wishes as to not finding work for him. He wants to 
work out his own salvation, you know. But I lost track 
of him the third day. He had got as far as Boksburg, 
and after that he seems to have vanished into thin air. 
Of course I shall get news of him presently.” 

“I wish he would leave Johannesburg,” Mrs. Mason 
remarked, and her voice was sad. She had lived in the 
place many years, and loved it; but she knew it for what 
it was. 

“So do I,” Lensford agreed fervently. “If he gets in 
tow with some of our shady characters on the Reef, there’s 
no saying what will become of him. Not that I have the 
least doubt as to his absolute integrity. Even that I.G.B. 
business was trivial. He hadn’t the faintest idea what he 
was really doing. But that’s the danger for him. He is 
so unversed in the ways of towns that he is not always 
able to distinguish between what is and what isn’t allowed. 
I feel as though I’ve been his judge in spite of my good 
intentions, and have sentenced him to a long term of hard 
labour. Can’t you help in any way. Miss Frances? ” 

“I’m afraid not,” she answered. “He’s one of those 
slow, determined men, and he’ll stay on till he pays off 
every penny he owes. Hasn’t he any relatives who can 
die and leave him a fortune? ” 

“I’m afraid not,” Lensford said thoughtfully. “Of 
course that would clear up the whole business, wouldn’t 
it? He could pay off everything, and go back to his 


The Aftermath 


321 


father with a clear conscience. They are only just 
ordinary debts. I wish you could meet his father. 
Funniest old chap you ever saw, with a face just like 
Father Christmas, and the vitality of a man half his age. 
He must be over sixty.” 

After that they chatted on more general topics, and care- 
fully avoided any reference to Feinbaum. Lensford was 
a very frequent visitor to Enfield Lodge these days, for 
Frances had brought to the place a refreshing touch of 
youth, and the old house seemed infinitely brighter for her 
presence. Even Mrs. Mason had altered, and though in 
some ways she had allowed herself to grow older, it was 
the gracious, dignified old age which she had hitherto had 
to deny herself owing to the exigencies of her position. 
With a young pair of hands to look after her, and manage 
things for her, she could take the rest for which she was 
beginning to hunger. 

When Lensford had left, she turned to Frances with a 
little smile. 

“He is a tragedy, my dear,” she said. “Had he been 
forty years older, he would have married me ; had he been 
ten years younger, he would have married you. As it is, 
he marries nobody.” 

“But he must have met any number of nice girls,” 
Frances said doubtfully. 

“ It depends on the definition of nice. In many ways 
Frank is punctiliously particular, and I cannot recall a 
single girl of our acquaintance who would have been quite 
suitable for him.” 

“ He seems cheerful enough. Perhaps he does not 
regard the fact of not marrying as a tragedy.” 

“And there, again, I am not sure you are right,” Mrs. 
Mason replied, and proceeded to change the subject. 

But Lensford came to the house again that evening. He 
seemed quieter than usual, and the first thing he asked 
was if Frances was about. 

“I think she is lecturing my maid,” Mrs. Mason replied. 
“Do you want to talk to her? ” 

“No. I want to be sure she won’t interrupt us.” 

“ She has only just gone, so I think you may reckon on 
five minutes’ grace. Frances is very thorough in her 
methods.” 

Y 


322 


The Debt 


“It is this,” he went on. “The man Payne, who keeps 
the hotel near the Mont Aux Sources, has volunteered a 
lot of information about this poor fellow James, who went 
over with Feinbaum. It appears he was a great friend of 
Payne’s, and the latter is very upset about the whole 
business. He thinks that the man’s real name was not 
James, and wants the authorities to establish his identity 
if possible, and get into touch with his friends.” 

He paused for a while, and Mrs. Mason looked at him 
interrogatively. 

“Well?” she said. 

“The man James,” he went on slowly, “was about five 
feet seven inches in height, slimly built, and with regular 
features. His eyes were dark, and set very far apart. 
His hair was brown, slightly streaked with grey, and he 
wore a beard. On his left arm, close to the elbow, he 
was roughly tatooed with a star and crescent, the Turkish 
emblem, you know.” 

“Still I don’t see ” she began. 

He held up his hand. 

“Forgive me, dear lady,” he said. “Many years ago 
I remember washing next to Harris at the club. He hap- 
pened to roll his sleeve right up to show me the unusual 
swelling caused by the bite of a mosquito. He . . . had 
a star and crescent tatooed just by the elbow. And 
Harris’s Christian name was James.” 

Mrs. Mason rose slowly to her feet, and there was a 
look of superstitious fear in her eyes. 

“Oh,” she breathed softly, “you don’t mean . . . ?” 

He nodded. 

“Shall you say anything to Frances? ” he asked. 

She sat down heavily. 

“No,” she said. “Decidedly not. We shall never know 
what actually occurred, I suppose. But — we are very 
small atoms in the hands of Fate, Frank, aren’t we?” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


ALONG THE REEF 

Ryan found the task of working out his own salvation 
a very bitter one, for Johannesburg is a town where it is 
only influence that counts, and he had no influence. On 
the first afternoon he made his way to Joubert Park, in 
order to be able to sit by the trees, and think over what 
had got to be done. The trees were bare enough now, 
for it was mid-winter; but there was just a suggestion 
of the veld about the place which he found infinitely 
soothing. 

And there he discovered the same old gardener picking 
up the same bits of paper as when he first arrived in 
Johannesburg. It seemed years ago to him now, and he 
smiled a little as he thought of the changes that had been 
wrought in him. 

“Hulloa, back again?” the old gardener remarked 
affably. He never forgot a face. 

Ryan seated himself on the drab-coloured grass by the 
side of the path. 

“Yes — back again,” he said. 

“The boss’ll turn you off if he sees you sitting there,” 
the old man went on. “Plenty of seats.” 

“We’ll wait till he comes. Tell me, how do you make 
money in this place? ” 

The old man deposited a fragment of paper in the bag 
he was dragging after him, and then scratched his head. 

“I don’t make it,” he said finally. “You ain’t married, 
are you ? ” 

“No.” 

“Then what do you want with money? It’s more 
trouble than it’s worth.” 

It was a sufficiently reasonable argument. 

“But I have debts,” Ryan argued. 

“Oh, them! They can’t touch you if you haven’t got 
Y 2 323 


The Debt 


324 

anything". That’s what I say — best without it. They 
ain’t going to the expense of suing you if you can’t pay 
the costs. Three or four quid for a summons and so forth, 
and a bob a day for your keep in the fort. ’Tain’t reason- 
able to think they’ll pay it, is it? ” 

“ I want to make money so as to be able to pay.” 

“Well, don’t tell ’em. Soon as one thinks you’ve got 
a quid or two, he’ll get an order against you, an’ take 
the lot for costs and what-not. Them as haven’t can’t 
pay, and that’s my motter.” 

‘‘But you don’t owe anything.” 

‘‘Don’t I ! I was somebody here in the old days, young 
feller, and I reckon three hundred quid wouldn’t pay the 
debts that have been written off against my name. Them 
as hasn’t can’t pay; so they leaves me alone.” 

“And could you go away if you liked? ” 

“ Of course I could — but why should I ? I get my meals 
reg’lar, and eat and sleep. Why should I go? ” 

Ryan rose despondently. Even this simple old man had 
the same doctrines as those which Lensford had preached 
to him. Apparently it was only fools who thought of 
paying their debts ; but if so, he was going to be a fool. 

“I think I’ll be going,” he said. 

“Right you are. Look in any time you want a bit of 
a chat. I could tell you some tales as ’ud surprise you.” 

He speared a tram ticket lying by the side of the path, 
and spent some minutes regarding it philosophically. 

And then began for Ryan that weary trudging of the 
Reef which so many have Known. He went east as far 
as Boksburg, calling at every mine on the way to know 
if they had any vacancy. He didn’t mind what he did so 
long as he got work, and he was very strong. At most 
places he was curtly told to get on, and the few men who 
did talk to him invariably asked him what ticket he had, 
or where were his references. 

He bearded storemen in their dens, and compound 
managers, and battery managers, and cyanide managers, 
and engineers, and underground men ; and once he actually 
found himself in the august presence of a mine manager. 
But it was the same tale everywhere — full up. 

At Boksburg he heard that things were brighter on the 
West Rand, so he retraced his steps, and passed through 


Along the Reef 325 

Johannesburg again. Slowly and patiently he made his 
way through the crowded mines close to town, and out 
past Fordsburg, and Maraisburg, and Florida, to Roode- 
poort. He learned the kindly nature of the underground 
men, who work face to face with death, and who are 
always ready to give a meal and a drink — especially a 
drink — to the man who is down on his luck. Night after 
night he was able to share a room on a mine with some 
chance acquaintance, and was given a good blow-out at 
the boarding-house. 

He began to hate the sight of those dead, white dumps, 
and the taste of the dust from them was ever in his mouth, 
for it was winter. The roar of the battery house filled 
him with loathing unspeakable, and the very sight of the 
cyanide tanks worried him. Each and all of them recalled 
some incident to his mind, when he had been abruptly 
told to get to h — 1 out of it. The language varied a little, 
but the meaning was always there. And he knew the men 
were right to order him off. The Reef was full of loafers 
sponging on the good nature of the men, and out-of-works 
who were open to sell liquor to natives, and undesir- 
ables of many kinds ; and the men in authority could 
not be expected to distinguish the wheat from the 
chaff. 

So he wandered on, weary and sick at heart, till event- 
ually he came to the virtual end of the Reef at Rand- 
fontein. He was as far off getting work as ever, and 
his boots were beginning to fall to pieces. He thought he 
would wander off into the veld, and have a rest for a day 
or two. 

And at the far side of Randfontein he came to the out- 
span, and quickened his pace as he saw the numbers of 
wagons drawn up there, and the oxen grazing on the 
dried-up veld near by. It was a breath of the old life 
to him, though in the ordinary course of events he rather 
despised this kind of transport rider. They were the 
short-trip men — perhaps three days at most, from Pot- 
chefstroom. In the mighty fleet of wagon transport they 
represented the coasting vessels and barges, never out of 
sight of land, and the ocean-going boats were so very 
different. But his talk and their talk would be the same, 
and he was weary to death of the Reef. 


The Debt 


326 

He was made welcome with the unostentatious hospi- 
tality of the breed. A few of the lesser men eyed him 
askance, for they had had experience of the Johannesburg 
loafer, and did not love him ; but the others accepted him 
at once as one of themselves, and made him aware of the 
fact by taking very little notice of him. 

What a glorious change it was ! He tinkered about 
with brake blocks, and damaged tents, and broken yoke- 
skeis, and made himself as useful as possible ; receiving in 
tacit acknowledgment such meals as happened to be avail- 
able, and tobacco for his pipe, and a place by the fire at 
night. The talk was all of the veld, and the condition 
of the oxen, and the prospects of early rains, and other 
subjects in which he was perfectly at home ; and he was 
able to show them that he was a master in the game, and 
a man to be looked up to. They began to ask his advice, 
and to pass the tobacco bag even before he required it ; 
and after the first night there was always a tot of square- 
face for him before he turned in. 

The old wagons moved off, and new ones came in, but 
still he stayed. He had mended his boots with such 
materials as came to his hands, and his strength and 
endurance were being vitalised owing to the contact with 
the life he loved — the promise of what was to be his again 
when he had wiped off the results of his earlier follies in 
Johannesburg. 

At the end of a week he set off again along the Reef, 
travelling towards Johannesburg, and utterly callous now 
as to the treatment he received when he asked for work. 
He was beginning to doubt if he would ever be given a 
job, but the very stubbornness of his nature prevented 
his being seriously disturbed by the reflection. He could 
still keep on trying, and that was something. 

On the following Sunday he had travelled as far as 
Roodepoort. He hated Sunday on the Reef, for then the 
natives were allowed to do pretty much as they pleased, 
and he had been brought up to keep them in their place. 
He saw them drinking in the compounds, and fighting 
among themselves, but nobody interfered unless the 
trouble grew really serious. For on the Reef native labour 
is very precious, and the white man who keeps too stern 
a check on his boys is not at all in request. Of course 


Along the Reef 327 

there are laws, but it is wise to wink at them on Sundays, 
lest you have trouble in getting sufficient labour the next 
month. There are dire penalties attached to the sin of 
selling liquor to natives, and yet thousands of natives are 
drunk every Sunday. There are severe laws about the 
natives carrying weapons of offence, but on the first sug- 
gestion of a faction fight, you will see all the natives 
provided with the wherewithal to annihilate their adver- 
saries. There are laws about morality. . . . 

But so long as the cry is for more and more labour, and 
so long as the native is petted and pampered when his 
white boss is a mere unit that can so easily be replaced 
at a moment’s notice, so long will the outrage on decency 
continue. For there are whites — and not all low whites, 
mark you — who batten exceedingly on illegal traffic with 
the natives, knowing that though the risks are great, the 
profit is greater. You will find white men fraternising 
with natives in order to sell their wares, and white men 
providing them with modern revolvers, and white men 
supplying them with liquor, and white men trafficking 
with them to induce them to steal the gold amalgam ; and 
yet — ye gods ! — we marvel because we no longer receive 
the respect to which we were accustomed in the old days. 
Occasionally a miner, thousands of feet underground, will 
resent the outrageous impudence of one of his boys in the 
only practicable manner ; and — he will probably be fined 
two pounds the next day. At all costs we must have 
labour for the mines ! 

And so Ryan hated the Reef on Sundays. He was 
accustomed to dealing with the natives, and he knew the 
sterling worth of many of them ; but he was also accus- 
tomed to receiving that respect which was the white man’s 
due. In his long treks all over the country he had learned 
to understand the native character very thoroughly, but 
on the Reef it was the white man’s character that stepped 
in and baffled him. East and west — from Springs to 
Randfontein — the road would be peopled with blacks; 
some of them clothed with a splendour that suggested 
Bond Street, and others in the costume of their kraals ; 
some of them gripped and torn by the dread claws of 
phthisis, some of them disfigured by loathsome diseases, 
and others maimed by accidents underground; some with 


328 The Debt 

Open, honest faces, and others with vice writ large all 
over them. 

All of this he could understand, but that was the end. 
He hated to see them swaggering all over the road, and 
even jostling white people ; he hated to see that many of 
them were under the influence of drink ; he hated to hear 
the remarks they shouted about the white people they met 
— for, unfortunately, he understood ; and most of all he 
hated to know that they had reached that stage when 
respect for white men was but a figure of speech to them. 

On this Sunday he was feeling particularly sore, for 
he had had to put up with the covert insolence of many 
natives during his walk from Randfontein, and his very 
helplessness made it all the harder to bear. Knowing 
them as well as he did, he could realise just what their 
least actions meant; and yet he knew the law well enough 
to understand that he must not resent a look, or a few 
light words. His slow nature gradually woke to a very 
real resentment, and by the time he reached Roodepoort 
he was in no mood to stand the least nonsense. 

And at Roodepoort — just where the road passes by two 
big compounds — ^he encountered eight or nine Xosas. 
They were headed by a native in gorgeous raiment, who 
wore a flower in his coat, and twirled a cane in his right 
hand. He was one of the educated boys and had soon 
found that there was much money to be made on the 
Rand. True, he had signed on as a surface boy, but 
his ticket at the end of the month consisted principally 
of blanks, and he only made a pretence of work in order 
to justify his presence in the compound. Why should 
he work? Did not his wife make Kaffir beer, out of which 
he made many pounds every week? And did he not write 
most creditable passes for such boys as desired liquor — 
signing a white man’s name, and receiving 55. a time 
for his labour? Truly he despised the raw natives, who 
worked. 

All the boys had been drinking heavily, and as they 
passed Ryan, one remarked, in Xosa, that there was 
another of the white men who knelt to them for food. 

Ryan spun round as though he had been shot, and the 
boy in the gorgeous clothes laughed loudly, and swaggered 
up to him. 


Along the Reef 329 

“Hulloa, you white man,” he said in English. “What 
matter, eh? You want fight, eh? You fight me? ” 

Ryan threw back his head, and laughed. Here at last 
was something he could understand. Even the police 
would not expect him to put up with this — after all he 
knew very little of the law — and he had put up with so 
much during the morning. 

Without a word he ran at the boy. He did it quite 
slowly and methodically, and one hardly realised the 
immense activity of such a , big man. For as he came, 
the boy whipped a short iron bar from his sleeve, and 
struck viciously at his head, and he dodged cleverly. 
That also he could understand — it was a native way of 
fighting adapted to the requirements of civilisation. 
With a little hiss of satisfaction he gripped his man, and 
lifting him bodily, threw him at the advancing line of his 
friends. 

And then pandemonium was let loose. The first boy 
brought down two of his followers with a crash as he 
landed ; but there were still five others, and they rushed 
at Ryan with the very evident intention of exacting a 
summary vengeance. 

And Ryan rushed to meet them. He was in his element 
at last, and thoroughly enjoying himself. Forgotten were 
the troubles and insults of the past few weeks, for here 
he was able to show once more that he was a man. He 
roared defiance as they closed on him, and his soft beard 
seemed to bristle as though suddenly imbued with life. 
He caught one of the boys by the arm, and with a single 
twist snapped it as though it were a carrot. He seized 
them in a bear-like hug, and hurled them from him crushed 
and senseless. He became the primitive savage himself, 
and the primitive savage will always prevail against the 
savage who is vice and drink sodden, when it comes to a 
trial of strength. 

Twice he was hit over the head with their sticks, but 
he did not seem to feel the blows. And in the end he 
stood alone in the road, with the blood trickling down 
his face, and his whole nature raging, and crying out for 
more victims. In the road by him were four recumbent 
forms, and the other natives had taken themselves off as 
best they could. 


The Debt 


330 


He stood there, dishevelled and bloody, with the great 
muscles of his shoulders showing where the coat and shirt 
had been torn from his back, and his right hand clutching 
a broken knob-kerrie which he had wrenched from one of 
his assailants. 

“Dogs!” he shouted. “Dogs, I say. Come and talk 
to me — come and talk to a white man. Sons of pigs — 
sons of shame ! Have none of you any courage ? Do 
you go to fight with women, as you did in the years that 
are past ? They will not hurt you — but have a care ! 
Their nails are sharp, and if a Xosa is scratched, he must 
surely creep away and die from the pain of it ! Dogs, I 
say ! ” 

He glared round him — a wild, awe-inspiring figure of 
incarnate rage — and his gaze rested on the gate of the 
compound near by. It was thronged with a dense mob 
of natives who had been attracted by the sounds of the 
fighting. 

“ Oh ! ” he went on. “ So you too would look on a 
white man, would you? Dogs, all of you I Out of my 
way, lest I treat you as I did those others.” 

He made a rush at them as he spoke, and they gave 
back before him. In the compound itself, surrounded 
by some hundreds of natives, he lifted the broken kerrie 
above his head, and laughed loudly. 

“ So ! ” he shouted. “ We are very brave — we Xosas ! 
But though there be hundreds of us, we dare not stand 
before a white man. We are brave only with women.” 

A burly native stepped out of the mob by the gate, and 
advanced a little cautiously. 

“Not so,” he said. “It was well done, O Big One, 
but they were but Xosas. Now we — we are Zulus, and we 
do not war with women unless we see red. It is true that 
the Xosas are dogs, but we are Zulus.” 

Ryan looked round him, and seemed to realise for the 
first time where he was. He dropped his kerrie, and 
pulled his torn coat up over his shoulders. After all, it 
had been a glorious fight, and he did not feel so cramped 
as he had done these many days. He was himself again. 

“You speak truly,” he answered calmly. “I do not 
speak the language of the Zulus as well as I do that of 
the Xosas ” 


Along the Reef 331 

“There are not many who speak our tongue as you do, 
O Big One,” the Zulu interrupted, and a murmur of assent 
ran round the dusky audience. 

“I speak it as well as I can,” he went on. “But it is 
true that the Zulus are not all dogs. There are many who 
are evil, but not as the Xosas are evil. The Xosas are 
not even dogs — they are jackals.” 

“It is true,” the big Zulu answered. He turned to his 
companions. “The Big One says the Xosas are jackals,” 
he said. 

“The Xosas are jackals — jackals ! ” 

They took it up in a shout that echoed round the com- 
pound, and carried far up the road. From a compound 
some few score yards away came an answering shout of 
defiance. 

“Assuredly they are cowards,” the big Zulu added, and 
made a dive for his quarters. And the other Zulus also 
rushed to the rooms, and appeared immediately armed 
with any weapon which was calculated to hurt. It was 
Sunday, so they were all full of Kaffir beer; and it would 
be good fun to try and kill a few Xosas. 

“Let the Big One lead us,” they shouted, “and we will 
show him that we are not dogs.” 

But Ryan realised the gravity of the situation. There 
is an undying feud between the Zulus and the Xosas, 
and all unwittingly it looked as though he had started 
a faction fight that might lead to anything. He tried to 
stop them, but their blood was up, and they took no 
notice of him. 

Outside they paused suddenly, and the more sober ones 
began to slink back. For coming along the road at a trot 
were a couple of mounted policemen. Only two, immacu- 
late in their smart blue tunics and khaki riding breeches, 
and with their brown leather gauntlets and leggings 
twinkling as the sun caught them. Only two, but they 
knew what the Mounted Police could do. Each had a 
sjambok — to be used, of course, if his horse became 
restive. Each also had a revolver, which was not sup- 
posed to be used till the trooper had been at the very 
least half killed. And each had a look on his face that 
boded ill for any native who attempted to defy the law. 
A few of them might be haled before the magistrate next 


The Debt 


332 

day; but many more would suffer — unofficially — if they 
did not retire to their compound and hide those weapons of 
offence. It was almost childishly easy to defy the law, 
but it was the height of foolishness to defy the Mounted 
Police. 

They rode smartly up to the compound, and the nearer 
one, who was mounted on a fine black horse, demanded 
what the trouble was. He spoke in a barbarous mixture 
of English and kitchen Kaffir, but they understood well 
enough. 

“Get inside,*’ he commanded. “D’you hear? Pagati, 
you blighters. Ikona funny business. Tche tcha!^^ 

He caught sight of Ryan, and whistled. 

“What the devil are you doing there?” he demanded. 
“Been visiting some of your friends? Come out of it.” 

Ryan came out, and explained briefly what had occurred. 

“That’s right enough,” the second policeman was kind 
enough to remark. “ I told you I saw a bit of a shindy 
in the road, Bernard. That’s why we came along. Did 
they man-handle you? ” 

Ryan smiled. 

“No,” he said gently. “I think I must have got a 
crack over the head, but I did not notice it. I left four 
of them in the road. It was very nice.” 

“Nice! Well, you seem to have done yourself pretty 
well. But we can’t have you stirring up trouble between 
the beggars — they’re bad enough already. You’d better 
clear off before we have to take you.” 

A man on a bicycle had stopped to hear what was going 
on, and when the two troopers rode over to the Xosa com- 
pound to quiet things there — for two troopers are con- 
sidered ample to quiet a few hundred boys — he came across 
to Ryan. 

“I saw some of it from down there,” he said, by way 
of introduction. “You’re the right sort to manage the 
niggers.” 

Ryan smiled, and then from force of habit put his 
query. 

“I want a job,” he said. “Are there any going here? ” 

“I don’t belong here — just over for the day. But do 
you really want a job, or is it a drink? I’ll stand you 
as much whisky as you can swallow if you like. It does 


Along the Reef 333 

a chap good to see a man handle them like that — the 
swine.” 

‘‘I want work,” Ryan replied stolidly. 

“Well, I — what’s your name? Ryan? Well, look 
here, Ryan, I’m from the Wolhoek, just before you get 
to the Simmer, you know, and I might be able to get you 
taken on. What’s your line? Battery? Ever been 
underground? No, I thought you looked too damned 
healthy for that. But I might get you taken on as a 
learner. Ten bob a shift, you know, and fill your lungs 
with quartz dust from the drills.” 

‘‘It doesn’t matter what it is, so long as it is a job,” 
Ryan answered indifferently. He thought that this would 
turn out as fruitless as all his other efforts. 

‘‘Right you are. Look here, Ryan, I’ve taken a fancy 
to you, and when I take a fancy to a man I’ll play the 
game with him. Come over to the Wolhoek to-night, 
and ask for Pearce. Got any money? Well, here’s five 
bob, which will pay your fare and a bit over. I’ve got 
to go and call on some people now. If you come along 
to-night. I’ll see if I can get you fixed up; and if you 
prefer to spend the five bob on beer, why, I’m not blaming 
you.” 

Ryan looked at the two half-crowns in his hand as 
though he hardly comprehended what had happened. 
This was so very different from the usual “Get to h — 1 
out of it ” treatment to which he was accustomed. 

“ But ” he began awkwardly. 

“Oh, that’s all right. Come along or stay away, just 
as you like. So long.” 

He mounted his bicycle, and, with a friendly nod, rode 
away. Ryan looked after him for several moments, and 
then turned, and walked resolutely to the station. 


CHAPTER XXX 


WORK 

And so Ryan found work at last, and, by so doing, 
passed on to the lowest depths of his misery. Pearce was 
a shift boss at the Wolhoek, which meant that he was a 
man of some little importance, and, by judiciously pulling 
such wires as were within his reach, he managed to get 
Ryan taken on as a learner with the drills. 

Down in the very depths of the earth, on what was 
known as the twenty-fifth level, they were driving over the 
reef, and every day the powerful machine-drills purred and 
screamed as they bit into the hard rock, and made the neat 
holes which were to take the dynamite charges. Ryan’s 
duties were simple, as he was informed that his work con- 
sisted in doing just what he was told, and doing it pretty 
quick, too. 

He gave no sign of what it all meant to him, this toiling 
in the dank darkness, cooped up in narrow spaces where 
his bulk was a tremendous handicap. He helped to wedge 
or steady the drill, or gave a hand with the hose which 
was playing continuously on the rock face in order to 
prevent the deadly dust from entering the lungs of the 
workers ; and all the time he was thinking of miles and 
miles of open veld, with the sun sparkling on the puddles 
in the road, and the pungent smell of the wet earth. . . . 
And he would think of his old father, toiling alone on that 
wonderful little bit of a farm in the Colony, or driving his 
wagons with the help of a hired Dutchman or a Cape-boy. 
And so, after some eight or nine hours’ terrible, back- 
breaking work, he would make his scrambing way back 
to the main shaft, and enter the skip to be drawn to the 
surface; conscious of a little glow of satisfaction in that 
another shift was done, and that he had earned another ten 
shillings ! 


334 


Work 


335 

And he hated the mine at the surface almost more than 
he hated the depths. There, at least, he could not see his 
surroundings, but on the surface the ugliness of everything 
was so very apparent. The lines of comfortless, wood- 
and-iron rooms, one of which he shared with Pearce ; the 
ceaseless roar of the battery house ; the huge dump — that 
white mountain of powdered, treated quartz, than which 
nothing could be more unutterably dead ; the slimes and 
tanks. And everywhere he found signs to accentuate the 
hopelessness of it all. Broken and discarded machinery ; 
lengths of rust-corroded piping and truck-lines; battered, 
derelict trucks; bits of wheels, and worn stamp-shoes. 
They lay just where they had fallen or been thrown, half 
buried in the dust which always lay thick everywhere — 
that dust which brooded like a cloud of ill-omen over the 
whole mine, and at this season of the year was eternally 
blowing everywhere. 

To a man accustomed to the pure air of the veld, as 
Ryan was, the whole existence was infinitely depressing. 
He began to understand why so many of the miners and 
underground men were utterly apathetic, and as soon as 
they came off shift occupied their time in drinking them- 
selves into a state of indifferent semi-consciousness. He 
would sometimes have liked to do that himself, but he had 
an end in view, and must save every penny he could. At 
first some of the other men used to jeer at him for his 
meanness, but one of them went too far one day, and Ryan 
very solemnly threw him out of the mess-room. After 
that they left him alone. 

And it was there Lensford found him at last, when he 
had been at work for a fortnight. Quite by chance he 
discovered his whereabouts, for the Reef is many miles 
long ; but as soon as the knowledge came to him he hurried 
out. 

He called at the manager’s office, ostensibly to have a 
chat, and managed to bring the subject round to the 
desired point eventually. 

“By the way,” he said, “have you a chap named Ryan 
working here? Big, strong chap.” 

The manager pondered a while, and then called out to 
his secretary. 

“ Is there a man named Ryan working for us, Thomp- 


The Debt 


336 

son? ” he asked. “By the way, wasn’t it a man of that 
name who got into trouble over some amalgam?” 

“Yes — our storeman,” Lensford answered calmly. “But 
this chap is a friend of mine. Saved my life something 
like a year ago. You’d like him, Henwood.” 

“You don’t say! Saved your life, did he? What’s 
that, Thompson? Oh, a learner, is he? My dear Lens- 
ford, you can’t expect me to know all the learners on the 
property. He’s a ten-bob-a-shift man.” 

“Is he down below now?” 

More inquiries were made, from which it appeared that 
he was due up even then, and Lensford rose eagerly. 

“Sorry I must get along, Henwood,” he said, “but I 
want to see this chap.” 

“ Right you are. But give me a look up before you go. 
I’ve got a real smart little story to tell you.” 

And so Lensford went out, and blundered up and down 
among the rust-eaten relics of yesterday, seeking Ryan’s 
room. It took him some time, because nobody took much 
notice of Ryan, and in any case it was Pearce’s room; but 
eventually he managed to find his way to it, and knocked 
at the door. 

“Yes? ” a voice answered — a voice that he hardly recog- 
nised, so much was it altered. 

He opened the door, and found Ryan sitting huddled up 
on a camp bedstead. 

“ Hulloa, dear old chap,” he said. “ I happened to be out 
here, and heard you had got a job on the property. I was 
beginning to wonder what the dickens had become of you.” 

Ryan was unfeignedly delighted to see him, and bright- 
ened up quite a lot. But Lensford was shocked at his 
appearance, and noticed that his healthy colour had almost 
entirely disappeared, and that his cheeks were sunken. It 
was such an utterly different Ryan from the man who had 
saved him from drowning less than a year ago. 

“Quite like old times to see you again,” he went on 
cheerfully. “I’m going to lie down on this bed, and you 
must stay where you are, and yarn to me about your 
adventures. Cut along, dear old chap.” 

And Ryan, who felt a longing to tell of what he had 
seen and done, settled himself on his own bed and began 
to talk. 


Work 


337 

Lensford listened attentively, and filled in all the blanks. 
He could understand so well what Ryan must be suffering 
amid such uncongenial surroundings, and he could appre- 
ciate the enormous difficulty a man such as he was must 
have had in putting up with the treatment meted out to 
those who tramp the Reef. And now he had got work 
at last, and — it was killing him. He knew it was killing 
him, and he felt pretty sure that Ryan himself knew. But 
he would keep on — keep on stolidly, uncomplainingly till 
he dropped. He had set himself the task, and he would 
go through with it somehow, even as would his own oxen 
have done in the past. They might die in their yokes, but 
they would keep on pulling till the last moment. And 
Ryan was very like one of his own oxen. 

But it was all so pitiful — so absurdly unnecessary. He 
himself would hardly feel it if he paid Ryan’s debts, 
and surely that ought to be permitted. The man had 
saved his life. But he knew the stubbornness of Ryan’s 
nature. 

“Look here,” he interrupted, “you must get out of this, 
you know. It’s too utterly ridiculous your going on like 
this, when I could lend you the money, and let you pay me 
back whenever you felt inclined. Hang it all, you saved 
my life in that beastly old river, and you might let me 
try to repay you a bit. It was all my fault that you ran 
into debt, anyhow. I’ll give you a cheque this very 
minute, and to-morrow you can leave this dreary hole, and 
trek right away ” 

But Ryan stopped him with a gesture. 

“No, Mr. Lensford,” he replied, “we talked about that 
before, didn’t we? And it wasn’t your fault at all. I 
wanted to lead a gay life, and I thought it would be just 
fine. I knew I was spending lots more money than I had 
any call to, what with clothes, and drink, and going to the 
races and the theatres with you, but I didn’t mind. I 
didn’t even trouble to think about it. But now I know I 
was all wrong. My father he said to me that he had often 
tried to be wicked, but he was so uneasy afterwards that 
he gave it up. I didn’t understand what he meant then, 
but I do now. I almost wish I could just go away, and 
leave my debts behind me; but I can’t. It isn’t any credit 
to me, but simply that I should never have any peace after- 
z 


The Debt 


338 

wards. It’s what you call conscience, isn’t it? Not that 
my father would ever say a word if I went back leaving 
the people unpaid, but he wouldn’t think the same of me 
as he does now. I thought it would be just fine to lead 
a gay, careless life, but I’ve found out now that I am no 
good for it. I’m not that sort; and if you expected a 
cart-horse to run the same as a racing-horse, it would be 
very silly, wouldn’t it? When I’ve paid off what I pwe^ — 
ah ! then I ’ll go back all right. And my father will think 
all the more of me because I’ve got a conscience like he 
has.” 

Lensford argued, and even implored, but he knew it was 
quite useless. Ryan had made up his mind that in acting 
as he was he was really only considering his own con- 
science, and that at all costs that conscience must be 
appeased. He was very subdued about it, and very stolid ; 
but he was quite determined. Lensford tried to draw a 
vivid picture of the old man handicapped through being 
by himself, but Ryan merely smiled at this, and answered 
that his father could look after himself better than most 
men. And when Lensford, at a loss for any further argu- 
ments, pointed out that the work in the mine would be 
sure to ruin his health, Ryan replied gravely that that was 
one of the risks he had to run. He reminded Lensford 
of one of those early Christian martyrs who went out of 
their way in order to suffer for the cause. 

And in the middle of the discussion they were interrupted 
by the arrival of Pearce. He blundered unceremoniously 
into the room, and swore when he saw Lensford. 

“What the devil are you doing here? ” he began, and 
then recognised the visitor. “ Sorry, Mr. Lensford, but 
you’re such a stranger nowadays. It must be nearly a 
couple of months since we saw you out here.” 

“Quite true, my dear chap,” Lensford answered, “but 
you shouldn’t have made those stringent regulations about 
commercial travellers, you know. After all, I am a com- 
mercial traveller — we are all commercial travellers in 
Johannesburg — and I don’t want the firm to get into 
trouble on my account. We Johannesburgers know each 
other so well that we quite understand nobody would call 
on anybody unless there was an ultimate advantage in 
view ; and your Board of Directors would be the first to 


Work 


339 

refuse to believe that I came out here to pass the time of 
day with the manager ” 

“Oh, you’re different. Those blasted travellers gave us 
no peace night or day, and it was quite time something 
was done. Have a drink? I’m as dry as a wooden god. 
Been fossicking round on the thirty-seventh level, and most 
of the time had to crawl on my belly like a snake.” 

He produced a bottle of whisky from a cupboard in the 
corner of the room, and poured out more than half a glass 
of the spirit. To this he added a very small quantity of 
water, and then tossed the mixture off at a gulp. 

“ I wanted that pretty badly,” he said. “ Sure you won’t 
have one? Will you, Ryan? Unsociable lot of chaps you 
are. Well, I’ll have another myself, to wash the dust 
down.” 

They chatted for a few minutes, and then Lensford 
announced that he must be going. Ryan rose and 
stretched himself, and then said that he would see his 
friend off the premises. 

Outside, Lensford made one last appeal. 

“Sure you won’t change your mind, old chap?” he 
asked. “It’s dashed foolishness — I give you my word of 
honour it is. And it must be pretty awful for you under- 
ground.” 

“No, I won’t change my mind,” Ryan replied. “And 
it’s not so bad down below when you get used to it. At 
first I was very frightened, for it is all so dark, and so 
quiet, and so mysterious somehow. But I don’t mind it 
now. The hanging wall where we’re driving is very 
faulty, and we have to timber as we go along. You know 
what that means? — put in props all the way. They’re 
supposed to be seasoned wood, I believe, but most of them 
have only been cut a few weeks, and are quite green. I 
wedge them in, and it’s just fine to get the strong smell 
of the wattle and blue gum again. Down there it seems 
to fill the place, and I keep smelling and smelling, and it 
reminds me of the smell of the fire at the outspan. Blue 
gum and wattle — there is nothing on earth that smells just 
like them, is there? And at first it was rather awful to 
see the strain on them, and hear them whispering and 
cracking all day, as the rock weighed them down. Pearce 
says that drive will kill some of us before long, but I don’t 


The Debt 


340 


think so. The wood creaks and groans, and all the time 
you can hear it; but it doesn’t break. And it seems to me 
like some old friend down there in the darkness, talking 
to me because we are both meant to be out in the sunlight, 
and I know the hanging wall won’t beat it. And it won’t 
beat me either! I’ll admit it’s hell now, but in about a 
year, or a little longer, it will be finished, and I shall 
be able to go back to my father and laugh with him 
about it.” 

Lensford held out his hand. Somehow the other’s atti- 
tude made him feel desperately miserable, for he knew that 
the big, strong man is the first to go under to the ravages 
of miner’s phthisis. But he was helpless. 

“Good-bye, dear old chap,” he said. “No, don’t come 
any further. I’ve promised to see Henwood before I go.” 

He watched the massive figure as it slouched back to 
the single quarters, and then he turned, and went to his 
car. Somehow he did not feel like hearing Henwood ’s 
latest story just then. 

But as he reached the car he was overtaken by a sudden 
feeling of giddiness, and the world swam round him in a 
red haze. He clutched desperately at the side of the car, 
and just managed to save himself from falling. 

Jones was at his side in a moment. 

“What’s the matter, sir?” he asked. “You haven’t 
been taking any cyanide by mistake? You never know 
where you are on these blooming mines.” 

Lensford pulled himself together, and the red haze 
gradually faded away. 

“It’s all right, Jones,” he said. “Touch of the sun, I 
think. But you may as well pull up at Reeding ’s — the 
chemist, you know — on your way back. I’ll go and see 
Dr. Martin. I’m quite all right now.” 

He entered the car, and Jones, muttering discontentedly 
to himself about the blooming mines, started the engine. 

As they rushed through the choking, dust-laden air, 
Lensford leaned back with a little sigh of satisfaction, for 
the way was suddenly quite clear to him. He knew his 
heart was in a very bad state, and this was the second 
attack of giddiness he had had in less than a month. So 
be it — fate was coming to the rescue. What was it 
Frances had said? “Hasn’t he any rich relative who can 


Work 


341 


die and leave him a fortune? ” Well, he wasn’t a relative, 
and he wasn’t particularly rich; but he could die. And 
the little money he had would not only see Ryan clear of 
all his troubles, but would give him quite a decent start 
in addition. After all, he had no particular wish to live, 
and there was something written about a life for a life. 
Ryan had given him back his life that time in the river, 
and in a way it belonged to him. 

He alighted at the chemist’s shop, and told Jones not 
to wait for him. Dr. Martin had a room at the back, and 
was in attendance about an hour every morning. 

He greeted the chemist by name, and talked with him 
for a few minutes till the doctor was disengaged. Then 
he strolled unconcernedly into the consulting-room and 
took off his coat. 

“ I hope you notice how I try to avoid wasting your 
time, Martin,” he said. “I want you to thump my chest, 
and then tell me in plain English what is the matter. You 
may remember you sounded me when I first came to the 
Rand — seven years or more ago, isn’t it?” 

Dr. Martin nodded. 

” And I told you at the time you would be a fool to stay 
in Johannesburg,” he said. 

“You were perfectly right — I was a fool.” . 

“ But I mean from a health point of view. With a heart 
like yours you might have lasted indefinitely on the low- 
lands, but four years of Johannesburg ought to have 
finished you.” 

“And yet I have lasted seven ! Wonderful are the ways 
of fate ! ” 

He stood there while the doctor made a very thorough 
examination, and then proceeded to clothe himself again. 

“What I hate about this sort of thing is that you have 
to take off your collar,” he said. ‘^And now, doctor — 
how long do you give me? ” 

“My dear Lensford ” 

“ It’s quite all right, Martin. Speaking as a friend, I 
may tell you I know I’m in a deuced bad way. It doesn’t 
worry me in the least, and I shan’t grumble if you give 
me a week. Don’t trouble me with any technical details, 
but Just name a date.” 

“I’m sorry, Lensford — more sorry than I can tell you. 


The Debt 


342 

But you’re quite right. The action of the heart is all 
over the place, and the ” 

“ My dear chap, never mind about that part. How long 
do you give me? A month? ” 

“ Perhaps six, if you stay up here. Get away to the 
coast, and I’ll give you a year. It may even be that you 
will improve, but, of course, I cannot say definitely as to 
that. Go to Cape Town, and put yourself in the hands 
of a good man there. There’s Professor Steinmitz — he’s 
a marvel with the heart.” 

Lensford carefully adjusted his tie in front of the dusty 
mirror, and smiled at his own reflection. It did not look 
like that of a man who has just heard his death sentence. 

“We’ll see about all that later,” he said easily. “I’m 
glad you didn’t beat about the bush, Martin. I’ve one or 
two things to do, but I’ll see if I can take your advice to 
a certain extent by going on a holiday. Good.-bye — I 
won’t keep you any longer, because there are sure to be 
several people waiting to see you. Rotten day, isn’t it? ” 

He passed into the shop, and so to the street. It was 
really cheering to know that in any case he had only a few 
months to live — it made it so much easier. Just a shoot- 
ing accident, and the whole wretched business would be 
settled. Not a soul would suspect anything. 

He hailed a passing cab, and was driven to a solicitor’s 
office in the centre of the town. Here he asked to see the 
senior partner, who was also a friend of his, and gave 
instructions to have his will drawn up at once. 

“Just a very ordinary sort of will,” he said. “I know 
you have to make it as complicated as possible, but when 
it’s sorted out I want to leave everything I possess to one 
Harry Ryan, who is at present working on the Wolhoek 
mine. Add a rider to say that it is because he saved my 
life last October. You might also say that it is my earnest 
desire he should leave Johannesburg at once and take up 
farming. Don’t insist on it, you know, but just suggest 
it.” 

“But, my dear Lensford,” the solicitor replied, “any- 
body would think you had only a few days to live, from 
the way you talk.” 

“So I have. I’ve just seen Martin, and he gives me 
six months at the outside.” 


Work 


343 


“Good God!” 

“Oh, don’t trouble to sympathise. I really don’t mind, 
you know. And it will be a most pleasant surprise to 
poor youngf Ryan. Working his soul out down that mine, 
and longing all the time to get back to the veld. He 
belongs to the veld, you know. I’ll ask you to be my 
executor, if you don’t mind, Hetherington. Get the whole 
estate wound up as soon as you possibly can, and pack 
Ryan off to the wilds even sooner. You don’t mind being 
executor, do you? It will be rather amusing, for yourself 
as executor will have to keep a wary eye on yourself as 
solicitor to the estate to see you don’t overcharge 
yourself.” 

“Of course I’ll act for you. But — but I can hardly 
credit it. You have always seemed so very healthy and 
so forth, and I’ve known you so long now. Upon my 
word, I feel terribly upset. I can’t believe it.” 

“ Neither can I. But I dare say I shall get used to it 
later on. It’s just fate, you know. And now let me tell 
you about my belongings. In round figures I think it 
ought to pan out somewhere near ;^i,5oo. I’ve been 
dashed lucky at the last three race meetings.” 

And so they proceeded to discuss the terms of the will, 
the legal side of Hetherington gradually asserting itself as 
he jotted down the figures and instructions. He would 
have the will drawn up that afternoon, and Lensford could 
sign it the following morning if he liked. Ryan was to 
be the sole beneficiary, with the exception of a sum of 
;^ioo which was left to Jones, Lensford ’s chauffeur. 
Everything was left to him unreservedly, in grateful ac- 
knowledgment of the fact that he had saved Lensford ’s 
life ; and he was asked to return to the veld as soon as 
his affairs would permit. 

“Well, that’s all settled,” Lensford remarked cheer- 
fully. He took out his watch and looked at the time. “ It’s 
nearly one o’clock, Hetherington, so what do you say to 
lunching with me? I shall probably be leaving Johannes- 
burg in a day or two to see if I can patch myself up a bit. 
And I want to have a chat with you about this chap Ryan.” 

They lunched together, and Lensford was in the best 
of spirits. Indeed, he almost made the other man forget 
the grim figure that was standing so near to them, and 


The Debt 


344 

the meal was quite a merry little function. He told all 
there was to tell about Ryan, and Hetherington promised 
to keep an eye on him in the event of anything happening, 
and see to it that he made the best use of the money. 
The debts would be paid at once, of course. It was really 
most amusing that Ryan should be so very much in earnest 
about them. Not one of the firms would have thought of 
troubling him so long as he was only earning ten shillings 
a shift. He doubted if any magistrate would make an 
order. But some people had such old-fashioned ideas 
about honesty. He only wished there were more like 
him. His clients thought nothing of giving him cheques 
which were returned by the bank marked “R/D.” It was 
all in the way of business, and nobody minded that sort 
of thing. But perhaps Martin was mistaken, and the 
heart was not so very bad after all. He only hoped that 
was the case, and that he never had to administer the 
will. 

“ And now I suppose you’ll want to get back to your web 
and wait for the flies to come along,” Lensford said when 
the clock at the club showed that it was after two o’clock. 
“Don’t say a word to anybody, will you? It’s rather 
demoralising to find people trying to sympathise with 
you.” 

He watched Hetherington stride away, and then walked 
to the writing-room. He would go on a hunting-trip, and 
there must be somebody with him who wouldn’t mind the 
details when the accident occurred. Somebody who would 
know just what to do, and how to inform the authorities. 
It would be rather unfair to let them in for a business like 
that, but he knew one or two men who would positively 
revel in the publicity thus given to their names in the 
press. And as to where he should go, that remained to 
be thought over. 

He sat down at one of the tables in the writing-room 
and wrote several business letters, and one or two private 
ones. All the time he was wondering as to what district 
he should choose for his purpose, and suddenly he leaned 
back and laughed silently. It was really a good idea, and 
he liked to think he would be among friends. 

He took another sheet of paper, and scribbled a note to 
Ryan — 


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345 


“ Dear Ryan, 

“ Is your father by any chance get-at-able just now? 
I have been ordered to take a holiday, and am think- 
ing of just loafing round the country, and perhaps 
doing a little shooting. If your father is on trek any- 
where — perhaps it is too early? — I should like to join 
him. You remember how the life appealed to me 
before, don’t you? I shan’t be seeing you before I 
go, so this is ‘ good-bye.’ You might let me know as 
soon as you can, as I must get away in a couple 
of days at the latest. Good luck to you, dear old 
chap. 

“Frank Weston Lensford.” 

He had just sealed the letter when a red-faced, bullet- 
headed man strolled into the room, and Lensford looked up 
with a little exclamation. 

“By Jove! ” he said softly. “Fate again. He’s just 
the very man.” 

He walked over to the new-comer and clapped him on 
the back. 

“ Hulloa, Bradshaw ! ” he exclaimed. “ What brings 
you here? I thought you hated Johannesburg.” 

The other man greeted him warmly. 

“I do hate it,” he said, “but I don’t mind it so much 
now I’ve seen you. Quite like old times, isn’t it? I’m 
just putting in time for a couple of months, and then I’ve 
got my marching orders for England.” 

“Slack for a couple of months, eh? Why, you’re just 
the very man I’m looking for. Saw a doctor this morning, 
and he tells me my heart is a bit groggy, and I must take 
a holiday at once. I’m going down in the Colony some- 
where, to see if I can get some shooting.” 

“Shooting? But the season is over. This is September, 
you bally old ignoramus.” 

“Don’t you make any mistake. I looked it up this 
afternoon. In some parts you may still shoot hares, and 
guineafowl, and one or two other sundries. I’m thinking 
of joining an old transport rider I know, and the shooting 
would be quite a secondary consideration. Will you 
come? ” 

. They talked it over for half-an-hour, and then Bradshaw, 


The Debt 


346 

who was a man who loved the veld almost as much as 
Ryan did, agreed to make one of the expedition. 

“ I suppose I ought to stay here,” he said, “but it sounds 
so very alluring. I’ve never been on trek like that, and 
it is all experience. And at least I shall be able to enjoy 
myself quite a lot watching you. When do you propose 
to start? ” 

Half-an-hour afterwards Lensford left the club by him- 
self. He walked round to the office, and had a rather 
trying interview with Mr. Strauss, who was really fond of 
him, and inexpressibly shocked to hear that his heart was 
in a dangerous condition — which was all Lensford told him. 
Then he hailed a taxi, as it was after four o’clock, and was 
driven out to Parktown. 

On the way he reviewed the whole situation, and decided 
that he had acted in every way for the best. He was given 
six months more of life — perhaps twelve ; and he knew the 
dreadful pains that would come to him before those months 
were over. And six months might make all the difference 
to Ryan. Men from the veld were always the first to 
succumb to the diseases that ravaged the mines, and 
already Ryan looked years older. It was a very small 
thing for him to sacrifice six months of life — perhaps six 
months of intermittent agony — when by so doing Ryan 
would not only be saved, but could return to the life he 
loved, and which he — Lensford — had been instrumental in 
depriving him of. It was no more than common justice, 
and he could do it so very naturally. 

It seemed rather like interfering with fate, but then fate 
had indicated approval by sending Bradshaw to him. 
Bradshaw was just the man for an emergency. It was 
unkind to let him in for such an unpleasant business, but 
he was too prosaic and matter-of-fact to mind very much. 
He would take charge instinctively, and old Ryan would 
have no trouble whatsoever. Obviously fate approved. 

He was so unusually cheerful at Enfield Lodge that both 
Frances and Mrs. Mason noticed it. He joked with 
Frances about the worries of housekeeping, and laugh- 
ingly told them his own troubles when he first came to the 
country. He related little anecdotes of business life in 
town, and kept them amused till it was dark outside, and 
the lights had to be turned on. 


Work 


347 

It was only as he rose to take his leave that there was 
just a tinge of sadness in his voice. 

“By the way,” he said, “I really came up to say good- 
bye. I saw a doctor this morning, and he has ordered me 
to take a holiday at once. Nothing like seeing a doctor 
when you want a holiday ! And I’m going to have a lovely 
time. I’m going on trek with Ryan’s funny old father, 
and — and I shall come back tremendously healthy. Ryan 
himself is getting on quite well, you know. He’s got a 
billet on the Wolhoek mine, and doesn’t mind the life a bit. 
Dear lady, I kiss your hand in token of farewell. Good- 
bye, Miss Frances; I am sure Mrs. Mason could not be in 
better hands.” 

“But — Frank — why didn’t you tell us before?” Mrs. 
Mason exclaimed. “You just tell us at the very last 
minute, and then try to rush away. I want to hear all 
about it. What did the doctor say ? ” 

“ Oh, he just looked serious, and told me I must take a 
holiday, and charged me half-a-guinea. But I didn’t say 
anything at first, because, frankly, I hate good-byes. They 
are unnecessary things, and almost embarrassing at times.” 

“And are you going shooting? ” Frances demanded. 

Lensford smiled a rather twisted smile. 

“I shall certainly shoot,” he said. “But as this is the 
close season, there won’t be many kinds of animal avail- 
able. It is the trip I want.” 

“Well, if you do kill a buck, don’t forget to send a 
haunch to us. I try to keep down the household expenses 
as much as possible, and a haunch of venison would be 
very acceptable.” 

“ I shall remember ; but I warn you I am a very poor 
shot. And when I am shivering in the wagon at night, 
I shall think of this delightful house, and the thought of 
the kindness I have always received here will warm my 
heart till I no longer feel the cold. Dear lady, that is 
almost poetic, isn’t it? Such is your influence on the 
ordinarily prosaic.” 

“Frank,” Mrs. Mason said, “I insist on your coming 
back and telling us all about this sudden determination. I 
really can’t allow you to run away like this.” 

“But I have told you I hate good-byes,” he protested. 
“ I really must go, and — it has just occurred to me that I 


The Debt 


34B 

told the taxi to wait ! Every minute adds to the pro- 
digious bill which he is recording against me. I am not 
going to try to thank you for all your kindness, because I 
know you find pleasure in being kind, and you would not 
wish to be thanked for your pleasure. Good-bye, dear 
lady. Good-bye, Miss Frances.” 

He shook hands with both of them, and then left the 
house, with Mrs. Mason still protesting at the sudden 
nature of the announcement. 

Frances walked back to the drawing-room with her, and 
arranged the cushions comfortably in the big arm-chair. 

“I don’t know when I’ve ever seen him so cheerful,” she 
said. “I suppose it’s really because he’s so glad that 
Harry Ryan is getting on so well. He has been troubled 
quite a lot about him.” 

“Perhaps you are right, dear,” Mrs. Mason replied, 
“ but somehow his good spirits did not seem to me to ring 
altogether true. Now that I am old, I get queer fancies 
into my head, perhaps ; but ... I wonder what the doctor 
really said to him.” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE SACRIFICE 

By a curious coincidence — a coincidence in which he 
plainly saw the hand of Fate — Lensford was directed by 
Ryan to that very station whence he had made the trip 
to Vansrust nearly a year before. Old Ryan had started 
trekking early that season, and so far as could be calcu- 
lated, might be expected to be on his way to that dull 
little dorp, if not already there. So Bradshaw and Lens- 
ford made very hurried preparations, and left Johannes- 
burg the following day by the evening mail, with a large 
supply of baggage which consisted almost entirely of 
provisions and sleeping kit. 

“The old chap won’t be expecting visitors,” Lensford 
explained, “and it will be a big job to feed us. I don’t 
suppose he’s ever tasted half of these tinned luxuries we 
are taking along, but it will make him think all the better 
of us. Half-a-dozen bottles of asparagus, a dozen large 
Paysandu tongues, six Swallow and whatsername cakes, 
any amount of potted pastes, and a few very special 
luxuries ought to warm the heart of anybody. You’ll get 
on famously with the old chap, Bradshaw, for he’s quite 
a character.” 

“What I want,” remarked Bradshaw, who never by 
any chance did any real work, “is a complete rest. So 
long as there is plenty to eat, and the weather keeps fine, 
I don’t much mind about the shooting. I want to lie still, 
smoking my old pipe, and studying the beauties of nature. 
We live in too much of a rush these days.” 

“Well, nobody has ever accused you of rushing,” 
Lensford replied, with a laugh. 

“I don’t, and that’s what makes it all the more 
fatiguing. If I rushed the same as the rest, I shouldn’t 
notice it ; as it is, it makes me quite breathless sometimes. 

349 


The Debt 


350 

Watching them, you know. Tell me some more about the 
rummy old party who runs this outfit we’re going to.” 

And Lensford told him what little he knew, laying 
special stress on his own rescue from drowning by young 
Ryan, and giving picturesque details of that one night he 
had passed at the outspan. And Bradshaw grunted en- 
couragingly every few minutes, till the night was far spent, 
and they both decided to turn in. 

They arrived at the wayside station late the next after- 
noon — people of importance in that the train stopped 
specially to set them down — and before setting out for 
Vansrust Lensford had a happy thought, and approached 
the stationmaster to ascertain if he knew anything about 
old Ryan’s whereabouts. 

“What — old Mr. Ryan? Why, of course I know him. 
There aren’t many round these parts as don’t know him. 
But you won’t find him in Vansrust. I reckon he made 
pretty good time, owing to us having a couple of good 
rains very early, and he’s been there and back again. He 
passed here this morning, going south.” 

“But how can I find him now? ” Lensford asked. “We 
were going on trek with him.” 

“Oh, he doesn’t go at such a dickens of a rate, and we 
know where he’s bound for. He’d outspan most of the 
day, too, to give the oxen a chance. I reckon he won’t 
have made more than twelve miles from here by sundown. 
Why don’t you hire a cart and go after him?” 

“A very sensible idea ! And where can I get a cart? ” 

“I’ll send my youngster over to Prinsloo’s place for 
you, if you like. He’s got a cart and pair, and he’ll take 
you anywhere so long as you pay him.” 

“Thanks very much. We’ll pay the old sinner anything 
he likes to ask, in reason. We must catch up with the 
wagons before dark.” 

And so it was arranged. At first Prinsloo, with an eye 
to business, declared that his horses were tired, and that 
one of them had a splint, and the other one was developing 
lampers ; but when the bidding had risen to three pounds, 
and Lensford showed signs of impatience, he remembered 
that after all he had another pair that could do the trip. 
So these were inspanned as quickly as possible, and the 
men set out in pursuit of the wagons. 


The Sacrifice 


351 

It was not such a very long chase after all. Some 
eight miles further on they overtook three wagons, just 
outspanning, and Lensford recognised the red face and 
white beard of old Ryan as he trudged philosophically 
beside the oxen. The driver of the cart urged the horses 
to their utmost, and in a very few moments they drew up 
alongside the wagons. 

Old Ryan looked round, and characteristically noted the 
condition of the horses first. 

“Reckon ye bin lathering them horses more’n a bit,” 
he said disapprovingly. 

“ Hulloa, daddy! Don’t you recognise me?” Lensford 
sang out. 

The old man absolutely jumped, and then a broad smile 
showed on his face, his bright little eyes became mere 
slits, and he advanced with outstretched hand. 

“Well, by crimes!” he shouted. “If this don’t beat 
all. If it ain’t Mr. Lensford, large ’s life. Man, but it 
does an old man good for to see ye.” 

Lensford jumped from the cart and shook hands warmly. 

“And how are you?” he said. “Thought we’d take 
you by surprise, so we’ve chased you all the way from the 
station. We’re coming on trek with you.” 

“It’s joking ye are,” the old man exclaimed. “Do ye 
mean it? Well, well! But it’ll be like old times, havin’ 
ye to talk to an’ all. An’ how’s the boy?” 

“Harry? Going strong. He’s got a job on one of the 
mines, and he tells me that he hopes to get back to you in 
about a year. Between ourselves, he went the pace a bit 
at first, and now he says he’s not coming back till he’s 
paid off the debts he managed to run up.” 

“There y’are — what did I tell ye? Straight as a dart 
th’ boy is, an’ full of sperrit too. Reckon he’ll make me 
laugh more’n a bit when he comes to tell me the gay tales 
of them first few weeks, eh? Man, but I’m powerful 
glad, to see ye, Mr. Lensford.” 

“ By the way, let me present a great friend of mine, 
who is coming with me — always provided we have your 
permission. Mr. Bradshaw, Mr. Ryan.” 

“Ye’re more built for the part than Mr. Lensford,” the 
old man said, running his eye approvingly over Brad- 
shaw’s compact frame. 


The Debt 


352 

“I’ve done a little bit of knocking about,” Bradshaw 
confessed. “Though I usually do myself pretty well. 
This time I mean to rough it.” 

From the front wagon a tall figure jumped to the 
ground and walked towards them to see what was the 
matter. 

“An’ this is a friend o’ mine, likewise a neighbour,” 
old Ryan explained. “Mr. Van der Velde, Mr. Lensford 
an’ Mr. Bradshaw, as is cornin’ wid us for a spell o’ fresh 
air. They don’t know Dutch, so I reckon you better 
stick to English these days.” 

Van der Velde shook hands without any display of 
emotion, and remarked that it was a fine day. 

“Will you let your boys off-load our stuff?” Lens- 
ford asked. “We’ve got a pile of blankets, and a 
couple of guns, and two cases of very special tinned 
things, and six bottles of whisky. How does that strike 
you ? ” 

Van der Velde became suddenly interested, and smiled 
in a much more friendly way. 

“I speak English well — yes,” he said. “You shall stay 
with the wagons just as long as you like, and we will all 
be friends. It will be very nice. Jacob ! Heindrik ! ” 

And Jacob and Heindrik came running to take the 
belongings of the mad Englishmen from the cart, and 
bestow them conveniently by the wagons. 

Van der Velde immediately claimed Bradshaw’s atten- 
tion. He was engaged on the fascinating task of carving 
a chain from one long length of wood. It was a laborious 
proceeding, for each link had to be carved into the other, 
there being no join of any kind. He had seen one in a 
shop, and they had asked a sovereign for it. Knowing 
the ways of the dealers, he still thought he might possibly 
get five shillings for his when completed. 

He sat down immediately the cart had left, filled his 
pipe and produced his knife. It was the sort of peaceful, 
indefinite occupation that appealed to Bradshaw, and he 
sat himself beside the Dutchman, also filled his pipe, and 
devoted himself to watching. They had something in 
common, those two. 

And in the meantime old Ryan had buttonholed Lens- 
ford, and led him off to examine the condition of the oxen. 


The Sacrifice 353 

and his latest acquisitions in that direction, and a new 
dog he had bought, and many other things. 

“There’s old Robinson,” he said, nodding towards the 
big red ox. “D’you remember him. Keeps all on gettin’ 
fatter an’ fatter, he does, an’ that full of devilry ye 
wouldn’t believe. Tried to poke me on’y yesterday, he did, 
sure’s ye’re alive. Bit o’ fun really, for him an’ me 
understands each other pretty middlin’. I wouldn’t lose 
ole Robinson for a mint o’ money. D’ye see the bald- 
faced one over yon? He’s the new leader for the second 
wagon. Ye’ll never guess what I called him and another 
one I got for the disselboom. Oh, ’tis a powerful good 
idea that.” 

“No, I don’t think I could guess,” Lensford replied, 
with a vivid recollection of that night by the river. 

“I calls ’em Omar an’ Alphabet.” 

Lensford looked puzzled, but tried to pass it off. 

“Yes? ” he said. “Very good, too.” 

“There now,” the old man went on. “I bin an’ puzzled 
ye like I did the rest of ’em. There ain’t a soul as has 
guessed why I called ’em that, but I thought ye would 
be up to it, wid all y’r book laming.” 

“I confess you have me beat,” Lensford said humbly. 

“ Oh, ’tis simple enough when ye know. Last summer I 
was way down by Beaufort, an’ it bein’ a Sunday, I 
thought I might ’s well get a bit o’ religion. So I went 
to the church. An’ in one o’ the hymns they sang some- 
thing about Omar an’ Alphabet. I were powerful curious 
to know what it meant, so when ’twas all over I goes up 
to the parson chap and asked him. ‘ Don’t ye know? ’ 
says he. ‘ I do not,’ says I, ‘or what for sh’ud I be 
askin’ ye? ’ An’ wid that he ups an’ tells me that it 
meant th’ beginnin’ an’ th’ end. Now d’ye see it? The 
bald-faced ox in the front of the span, an’ th’ other one 
at the after end. Ah — I thought that would jest about 
fetch ye.” 

“It’s quite a lot better than you think it is,” Lensford 
assured him. 

“Oh, I dunno. ’Tween you an’ me, I thought it were 
more’n middlin’ good myself, but I didn’t let on.” 

He conducted Lensford to each wagon in turn, and 
pointed out, surreptitiously, the very marked difference 

A A 


354 The Debt 

between his own oxen and those belonging to Van der 
Velde. 

“And now,” he said, when the tour of inspection was 
finished, “will ye tell me a bit about th’ boy? I’m power- 
ful set on bearin’ about him, and ye’d better believe that 
there ain’t no call to keep back th’ gay parts. I was 
young meself not so very long ago.’’ 

It was almost dark when they rejoined the others, and 
old Ryan was brimming over with good spirits. He had 
confessed to Lensford that it had been a dreadful blow to 
him when he heard of Harry’s engagement, but now the 
boy was coming back to him in about a year his enthus- 
iasm knew no bounds. Dinner that night was an elaborate 
function in which the regular veld fare was judiciously 
eked out with Paysandu tongues, and asparagus, and 
other delicacies, to say nothing of the whisky; and at 
the conclusion of the meal Van der Velde vowed that 
they must surely come to see him at his farm. He and 
Bradshaw had already struck up a friendship, and talked 
to each other in a mixture of pidgin English and extremely 
back-veld Taal. This was in deference to Bradshaw’s 
wishes to speak the language of the country, for Van der 
Velde himself could speak English quite well when he 
liked, and just then he had no prejudices whatever. 

And so they were accepted and made much of, and for 
the next three days they jogged along peacefully, and took 
no particular heed for the morrow. Lensford felt that he 
wanted just one or two days of perfect peace before he 
took the plunge, and Fate would not grudge him that 
little time. He loved to lie flat out on the ground, gazing 
his fill over the wonderful green of the country, where the 
premature rains had induced an early crop of spring grass. 
It was so suggestive of infinity, that tremendous expanse 
of open, slightly billowy country — almost like a sea of 
land, if such a thing could be imagined. Green and drab 
it stretched away for mile after mile, gradually changing 
to grey and blue till it merged in the purple of the distant 
kopjes that formed a horizon. Hardly a tree as far as 
the eye could see, except where an occasional farmhouse 
showed in the distance; and literally nothing to break 
that almost terrifying monotony for .scores of miles in 
every direction. 


The Sacrifice 


355 

It made him feel what an utterly insignificant atom he 
was in the scheme of things, and he liked to think that. 
He had been having too much of a feeling that the world 
revolved round him of late. He had joined the old man 
on his trek partly because he felt he would like to be near 
friends when the final act was played — he hated the 
thought of being torn to pieces by the scavenging beasts 
— and more because he wanted young Ryan to have no 
doubts at all that it was an accident. If he had contem- 
plated taking his life, he would surely have stayed away 
from the father of the man who had saved him from 
drowning; and he had no doubt of his ability to manage 
the finale cleverly. 

But he never thought he would find such contentment 
as now came to him, and in a way it made things so 
very much easier. He would just wait a few days, so as 
to make his peace with the world of which he was frankly 
tired, and then glide from one existence to — whatever 
came afterwards. He had not the slightest fear, and 
considered that as he was not consulted when he came 
into the world, he had only himself to consider when he 
desired to leave it. Just one or two days, trekking slowly 
along through those vast spaces, apparently never getting 
nearer the horizon. One or two mornings spent hunting 
hares, or guinea-fowl, or any other unprotected bird which 
afforded any sport; and one or two evenings sitting round 
the brightly blazing fire, listening to the yarns of the two 
old transport riders. . . . 

But on the morning of the fourth day he had another 
seizure, and it lasted for nearly ten minutes. At the 
time he was lying by himself on the veld, and nobody 
knew that he had passed almost into the valley of the 
shadow. It made him decide to act at once, for the next 
attack might mean anything. He didn’t know exactly 
what might happen, but pictured himself partially 
paralysed, perhaps, lingering on for months as a burden 
to his friends, pitied by some, and scorned by others. 
And in those months whilst his helpless body waited the 
end young Ryan might be finally stricken down. Young 
Ryan, who had saved his life ! And even if his quixotic 
soul did not relish the idea of paying off those ridiculous 
debts with the money so easily acquired, he would at least 


The Debt 


35 ^ 

respect the wishes of his former friend, and leave Johannes- 
burg for that reason if no other. Lensford was sure of 
that. 

That afternoon, when the wagons were outspanned and 
the men were lazing comfortably, he announced that he 
would just have a look round with the gun. Bradshaw 
laughed scornfully, and told him he didn’t know when he 
was well off. 

“Why don’t you wait till the cool of the evening? ” he 
demanded. “I’ll come with you then, if you like. But 
just now it is very much more comfortable to stay here. 
What do you think of this giraffe I’m carving, eh? Looks 
rather like those you buy in the curio shops on the Rand, 
doesn’t it? Not so well carved, perhaps, but that makes 
it look all the more genuine. If I can manage the back 
legs without breaking it, and fix up the head a bit, it will 
be top-hole. I’m getting on well, aren’t I, Van der 
Velde? ” 

“Ja. Just now I teach you how to make a chain like 
this. It is very difficult.” 

“Keep y’r eyes open if ye go over yon,” old Ryan 
cautioned, nodding towards a bit of a rise something like 
half-a-mile away. “ I was over there wid Harry, a year 
or two ago, an’ we killed five puff adders. Reg’lar nests 
of ’em there. Reckon maybe there’s some extra fat ants 
thereabouts, an’ they like to lie ’longside of ’em.” 

Lensford got his gun from the wagon, and shoved in a 
couple of cartridges. 

“I’ll keep a sharp look out,” he said. “If there’s one 
thing I like it’s killing snakes; so I’ll go over there and 
try my luck.” 

He strolled away, and the others took no further notice 
of him. But though he spoke so unconcernedly, the old 
rnan’s words had given him a new idea. Why not be 
bitten by a snake? After all, the gun accident business 
had been a bit overdone, but nobody would think for a 
moment that he had deliberately allowed himself to be 
bitten by a snake. It was a much more satisfactory 
scheme, and it appealed to his artistic love for doing 
things well. He doubted if it would be very painful, and 
after the first few minutes the victim was usually uncon- 
scious of what happened. 


The Sacrifice 


357 

He laughed a little wistfully as he thought of the con- 
sternation his death would cause. Somehow that was the 
only hard part — he hated to think of the very real grief of 
old Ryan, for instance. It is not the man who dies that 
suffers, but those who are left behind. 

“And it upsets all my ideas about Fate,” he murmured. 
“Obviously Fate intended me to go out on account of my 
rotten heart, and here I am arranging an entirely different 
programme on my own account. If it is written that a 
man shall die by his own hand, I wonder what happens 
if he hasn’t the pluck? And if it is written that he live 
to a ripe old age, what does Fate do if he gets in front 
of a motor-car? Modern life must perplex Fate very 
seriously. . . . Poor, obstinate, quixotic Ryan ! I wish 
I could be near to see his face when he gets to the wagons 
again. . . . Perhaps I shall ! And it’s so very easy for 
me too. Save myself months of pain, and give him every- 
thing he wants at the same time. . . . Bradshaw will be 
fed up! Nice sort of holiday for him; but he’s not of 
much account.” 

He topped the little rise, and found it descended some- 
what abruptly on the far side to the dried bed of a summer 
floodway. The seemingly level expanse of veld is full of 
surprises like that, and for him it was most convenient. 
He would be right out of sight of the wagons, and down 
there in the hot sand among the boulders it was just the 
place for puff-adders. 

He descended the side of the slope as quietly as possible, 
keeping a sharp look out for snakes, and with all his 
senses strained to the utmost. But though he ranged up 
and down the dried-up waterway for half-an-hour he found 
no trace of a reptile of any sort, and sat down finally on 
a smooth rock to recover his breath. 

“Looks as if Fate is going to have something to say 
to my little plan after all,” he murmured. 

After a very brief rest he resumed his search, and almost 
immediately found what he wanted. Lying stretched out 
on a patch of sand — for it takes its siesta that way — was 
a huge puff-adder over four feet in length. Squat and 
ugly it lay, its shapeless body entirely lacking the graceful 
lines of other snakes, and its wicked, unblinking eyes fixed 
on a hole in the bank beside it. The yellow markings on 


The Debt 


358 

its skin showed very faintly, for it was not yet time to don 
the bright black and gold of the spring; and it looked 
inexpressibly evil as it lay there motionless. 

Lensford raised his gun instinctively, but put it down 
with a little sigh. He would shoot it afterwards — after 
it had served its purpose. 

He advanced very cautiously till he was quite close to 
the loathsome reptile, and then, stepping forward quickly, 
planted his left foot squarely in the middle of the flabby 
body. The puff-adder struck back, as puff-adders do — 
struck again and again as Lensford stood over it with a 
curiously fixed smile on his white face ; and then it tried 
vainly to escape from the crushing weight that imprisoned 
it. 

Lensford raised his gun at last and blew the creature’s 
head off. 

“So that is the end,” he said quietly. 

He walked to a rock near by and sat down ; for he felt 
desperately sick. With an effort he pulled himself to- 
gether, and lifted the leg of his trousers to look at the 
bites. They were plain enough, and already the deadly 
punctures showed blue round the edges. 

He rolled up his trousers so that the wounds should be 
plainly visible, and then produced his knife. 

“In a little while,” he murmured, “when there is no 
room for any doubt, I will cut round the wounds. It will 
look as though I made a desperate attempt to save myself. 
Lord, but it was a ghastly-looking brute. . . . Poor old 
Ryan ! ” 

He sat there quite still for perhaps three minutes, his 
eyes gazing unseeingly straight before him, and the 
perspiration streaming down his face. Then, as he felt 
that the poison was working into his system, he bent 
down and cut at the topmost wound with his knife. 

But the knife fell from his fingers, and he suddenly 
stood upright, with a look of startled understanding in 
his eyes. There was a sound as of a mighty orchestra 
in his ears, and the world was slipping away from 
him. 

His lips parted in a contented little smile, and he swayed 
slowly forward till he fell heavily to the ground, burying 
his face in the hot sand of the sluit bed. Just for a very 


The Sacrifice 359 

few moments his limbs twitched convulsively, and then 
he lay quite still. 

Fate had spoken through his heart after all. 

At the wagons old man Ryan walked up and down 
impatiently. The oxen were inspanned, and it was time 
to be getting on. Van der Velde, who was engaged on 
the ticklish operation of making due allowance for where 
the fourth link overlapped the third in his wooden chain, 
looked up patiently. 

“It is no matter,” he said. “The Englander has gone 
shooting, and we will wait for him. We have made good 
time, and already are we many miles further than we had 
thought. Also I like this travelling.” 

“I don’t care a cuss for th’ wagons,” the old man 
answered, “but I’m just wond’rin’ if anything have 
happened to him. Full of sperrit he is, just like my boy 
Harry, and there ain’t no saying what he’ll be up to next. 
Heindrik, ye yaller-faced, slab-sided, thievin’ imp of 
wickedness, do ye make that out for an asvogel?”^ 

“Ja, baas,” the boy answered. “One — two — three — 
four come already.” 

“There! He’s shot something he has, an’ left it for 
th’ asvogels whiles he went on after somethin’ else. Sinful 
waste I calls it. Reckon I better be runnin’ over to hev 
a look.” 

Bradshaw shut his knife with a snap, and tossed the 
nearly finished giraffe into the wagon. 

“Half a minute, Ryan,” he said. “I’ll get my gun 
and come along with you.” 

The old man waited impatiently till the other joined him, 
and then they set off together to find that which the 
vultures were watching. 

^ Vulture. 


THE END 




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Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, 

BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., 
AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. 


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